Imprint
by DB2020
Summary: After a mission goes wrong, Kirk must deal with a de-aged Spock and fight to keep them both alive. Spock grows attached and begins to worry that he won't remember his time with Kirk once he's changed back.
1. Chapter 1

**Update 2/18/13:** This story is NOT abandoned! Chapter 11 is essentially finished. Chapter 12 is well on its way to being finished. Chapter 13 has an outline. However, I'm **not posting piecemeal style** anymore. So **no updates will be forthcoming**, not until the entire story is completed, which will take quite awhile, another year, idk. I'm sorry. It's just less frustrating on everyone, I think. 

Author's note: There are a few things I want to clarify.

#1 This is a kid-fic, so in the next chapter Spock will be turned into a kid. It's not permanent.

#2 Vulcans have a lower body temperature than humans. It's canon and I prefer to stick close to canon whenever possible. So, please no corrections on this point ^_^

#3 This is not a lolicon fic. Kid-Spock will start crushing on Kirk, but Kirk will obviously not see Spock _that_ way until the de-aged craziness is taken care of.

#4 Watch out for clichés, they're everywhere and might just pummel you to death.

#5 **Ritalin** is used to cure Rigelian Fever. It's a TOS reference. It's the same spelling as the ADHD medicine, but pronounced different. If too many people end up getting confused, I might just change it to Dilithium, but as per note #4, I have enough clichés.

Imprint

Chapter One

Arms crossed, Kirk leaned against the curved wall of the central turbo lift. Next to him, Spock's stiff posture radiated disapproval.

Kirk released a quiet sigh. "Just say it," he urged. His professional relationship with Spock was less cooperative than he would have liked. In the same strange way that he enjoyed bickering with Bones, he enjoyed his frequent arguments with Spock. Bones called him a masochist, but outwitting a Vulcan was intellectually stimulating in a way that drunken barroom debates had never been. He was particularly fond of trying to use logic against Spock. Nevertheless, when matters became time sensitive, he didn't want to squabble over every decision he made.

"Captain?"

Regarding his first officer, Kirk tried to find some hint of emotion in the man's expression. The emotions were there, buried deep beneath the surface. He had touched them before. "You have that look, like you want to say something. By all means, say it."

Spock inclined his head and studied Kirk. His dark eyes were unreadable. "Very well," he said. "It is inadvisable for you to join the landing party. Starfleet regulation states-"

Kirk held up a hand to stop Spock before he cited regulation verbatim. He knew exactly what Starfleet regulations outlined as acceptable parameters for landing parties. There was an entire chapter on landing parties in the official '_how to be a captain' _rulebook, and it was all pomp infused jargon that told captains to sit pretty on the bridge while everyone else did the dirty work. He didn't need Spock offering statistics to persuade him of how illogical his decision was. He also didn't need a rulebook telling him how to run his ship.

"This is our first mission," Kirk said. He waved his hand dismissively and amended, "First _official_ mission. And if I'm not giving this my full attention, I can guarantee you Command will give me theirs."

"You are of the belief that Starfleet Command would encourage your presence on the planet's surface?"

"You got it in one, Commander." When the lift reached its designated deck, Kirk cast Spock a playful grin and slipped through the open door. As usual, his first officer fell into a stride beside him. "Command wants me to learn a little finesse from the ambassador. I'll be taking notes the whole time."

Kirk didn't bother mentioning that he intended to play an active role in every off-ship mission. For now, he gave his first officer a rational explanation to mull over. He would have another excuse ready the next time.

Starfleet didn't trust Kirk's diplomatic skills. His penchant for negotiating tense situations with his fists left a lot to be desired. So, he would accompany Ambassador Eldridge and observe a master at work. Even Spock couldn't begrudge him the learning experience. It was only logical.

A small, satisfied smile tugged at Kirk's mouth. He loved it when logic worked in his favor.

ooo

First contact with Thelos had occurred three years ago. It was a backwater planet, unlikely to achieve warp capabilities for a number of decades. The planet was tiny compared to Earth and its people unsurprisingly homogenous. Thelosians had received Federation envoys with good grace. Their peaceful race was uninterested in things like space travel and alien technology. Thelosians were more interested in meditating towards spiritual enlightenment.

The Federation couldn't care less about a pre-warp civilization, but the planet's abundance of Ritalin had raised a few eyebrows.

Kirk didn't appreciate the hypocrisy behind his first mission. Despite popular belief, there were a few rules and regulations he upheld. The Prime Directive was a rule that he saw in black and white, but his mission on Thelos was shading it in grey. Thelos should have been classified as 'still developing' and been left alone. But Ritalin was in short supply and Thelos had a lot to spare.

Although Kirk's easy smiles and attentive demeanor didn't show it, he felt anxious. The Federation wasn't breaking the rules, just bending them to the point of political obfuscation. By nature, he distrusted authority figures. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if things went horribly wrong. Would Starfleet have his back, or would Command claim he had acted against orders? Saving the Federation's face was more important than exonerating an inexperienced captain.

On Thelos, negotiations had gone well, but even that sat uneasy with Kirk. It was pointless to try and articulate his unease. Spock didn't consider 'gut instincts' to be a logical basis for drawing conclusions. Nevertheless, he shared his misgivings. "I don't like leaving Eldridge here. Something about this doesn't feel right."

Several paces ahead of the captain, the twitch of Spock's brow went unobserved. "Since first contact was established, Thelosians have been positively receptive of Federation influence. There have been no signs of contention over the terms of the trade agreement. I am perplexed by your apparent doubts."

Kirk shook his head. "I'm just thinking out loud," he said. He paused between steps to cast a calculating glance over his shoulder.

Behind him, the temple towered six stories. A behemoth stone structure carved into a cliff face. The temple stood atop a terraced hillside, overlooking the city in the shallow valley below. Thelosians were a humanoid species, tall with disproportionately large upper bodies and wiry legs. The dominant features that Kirk had noted were the flatness of their faces and the insane sounds they could make deep in their throat. Uhura would have liked to sit in on the meeting to hear the intricate vocal vibrations.

The polished steps were slick. It had rained while they were inside the temple. The air was still moist with a light spritzing rain. Kirk had visited few planets other than Earth and was stunned at how similar the environments were. Thelos was light years from the Milky Way Galaxy, but its people and small planet were like a piece of Earth. The air was thinner, but not enough to need a tri-ox compound. Though, he wouldn't want to run any marathons.

"Captain?"

Kirk tore his eyes away from the temple and met Spock's penetrating gaze. "It's freezing," he commented, ignoring the sensation that the Vulcan was trying to read his mind. Rubbing his hands together, he burrowed deeper into his navy-blue parka.

Spock's brow twitched. "Indeed," he murmured and continued his descent. Also dressed in a standard issue jacket, he showed no signs of his discomfort, not even as a cold wind assaulted them.

Kirk followed along, his attention torn between keeping his balance on the steep stairs and studying in the landscape. From his high vantage point, the sprawling cityscape was breathtaking. Thelosians considered Belmar to be their largest city, but it was really more of a township nestled in the dip of the valley. Smaller towns edged the valley's ridge, the tiny communities connected by a river and its tributaries.

Buildings and houses made predominantly of a violet hued stone expanded out from the base of the hillside. There was a distinct division between the city and the surrounding forest. He likened the trees to pine trees, but the needles were long and shaggy. Instead of evergreen, they were plum red.

He wanted to explore, maybe visit a local pub or hike to the river. There was some sort of levy system that cycled water throughout the city and his inner mechanic was curious. It was a shame to visit a planet without actually spending time observing its people. A six-hour stint in a fancy room, poring over a trade contract, did not count as cultural exchange. He had met the temple's shamans and the newly appointed Thelosian Ambassador, but he hadn't mingled with the locals.

New orders from Command would arrive soon. Kirk was disappointed with the cut and dry nature of his first mission. He had ferried Ambassador Eldridge to Thelos, witnessed negotiations, and would now proceed elsewhere. It was this lack of excitement to which Kirk attributed his current unrest.

Spock's measured steps never faltered, even when he turned his focus to his data pad. "Starfleet Command has confirmed approval of the signed trade agreement. They will send new orders shortly."

Kirk hummed a note of acknowledgment and let his thoughts wander. The other members of the landing party were already at the base of the stairs, waiting for their captain and first officer. Thelosians might not be a technologically advanced civilization, but they took great pride in what they considered an advanced spiritual awareness. Kirk didn't know the specifics of their beliefs, but he had been amenable when they requested he not transport on sacred ground. The base of the stairs marked the end of temple ground. He didn't mind the slow descent. It gave him time to absorb the sight of a world he might never see again. Sadly, there would be no bar hopping on Thelos. It might be just as well. He couldn't shake the feeling that something as wrong.

Before Kirk could further reflect on the strange unsettled feeling in his gut, he caught the flagging signal from the security team. Picking up his pace, he drew abreast with Spock as they reached the last step.

"Captain," Lieutenant Carter said, "I can't get through to the Enterprise."

Spock was already trying his own communicator. Kirk waited, observing the slight furrow between the Vulcan's brows and the way dexterous fingers tapped faster.

"Indeed, Captain," Spock confirmed, still trying to get through. "All outgoing and incoming signals have been blocked."

"Blocked?" Kirk questioned. With a glance at the looming temple, he said, "They didn't say anything about jamming our signals. Are we too close?"

Eyes never leaving his communicator, Spock answered, "Negative. Thelosians do not have the technological capability for such a feat."

Finally, Spock looked up. The others waited for the captain's orders.

"Can you pinpoint the interference? Could it be something in the atmosphere? An ion storm too close to the Enterprise?" The knot of unease in Kirk's stomach told him that the jamming of their communications was more intentional than an ion storm.

"Atmospheric interference is unlikely. I can attempt to triangulate-"

A sudden explosion sent their group sprawling. The ground quaked beneath their feet. Crouched defensively, Kirk's eyes darted around for signs of attack. The explosion had been in the distance, near the center of the city. A cadence of screams filled the air. Billows of smoke and dust rose above the line of flat rooftops.

"What was that?" one of the lieutenants exclaimed. "A bomb?"

"What about comm links?" Kirk asked Spock, his voice tight with urgency. "Can we hail each other?"

"Negative, Captain," Spock stated. He stood tall, appearing no more disturbed by the explosion than he would have a pleasant summer breeze.

Mind buzzing with possibilities, Kirk assembled his thoughts. "Spock, you stay here with Lieutenant Carter. Keep trying to get through. I want to know where the jam is coming from." He checked the phaser at his hip. "Lieutenant Folsen, you're with me."

"Captain," Spock called before Kirk rushed off. "I believe it would be wise if I joined you. As you are aware, my proficiency in combative situations is superior to both Lieutenants Carter and Folsen."

"That's an understatement, Spock," Kirk said, grinning in remembrance of their time on the Narada. The commander was a dead shot with a phaser and even deadlier within arms' reach. "But you're also the only science geek we've got down here. I need you to work on getting through to the ship."

Spock would have argued, but the captain's logic was sound. He watched as his superior disappeared around the corner of a tall building, headed for the source of the smoke.

ooo

Folsen became lost in the fray. Kirk searched the frantic sea of faces and jostling bodies, but the lieutenant's telltale red shirt was hidden beneath a dark jacket. Mounting the stairs of a building, he took to slightly higher ground and scanned faces with a grim determination to find his crewman. He caught sight of Folsen down the wide cobbled road, little more than a block away. He called out to the man.

"Folsen!" His voice rose above the crowd before being quickly swallowed.

Folsen had heard the captain. He turned, a look of sheer relief on his face as he caught sight of dark blond hair and bright blue eyes. "Captain!" he shouted back. Civilians rushed past, but he just pushed against the flow to reach Kirk.

A shrill whistle grabbed Kirk's attention. Darting a sharp look skyward, he spotted the exhaust tail of a missile. His eyes dropped to his lieutenant. The young man waved frantically, as though afraid Kirk might leave him behind. With gut wrenching certainty, Kirk waved his arms to ward the lieutenant back. "Go back! Get back!"

It was too late. A blinding flash forced Kirk to shield his eyes and a solid blast knocked him back.

ooo

At the second explosion, Spock darted a sharp look towards the building the captain had disappeared behind. How near had Kirk been to that explosion? Under orders, he continued a variation of code and frequencies. His resources were limited.

With a mere 0.97 percent chance of establishing contact with the Enterprise, he abandoned the attempt. "Lieutenant Carter, ascend the stairs to the High Temple and attempt to hail the Enterprise."

Carter looked relieved to have new orders. Continued failure to raise the ship added a feeling of helplessness to his current distress. "If I can't get through, should I just keep trying or come back down?" he asked. He made no attempt to hide his apprehension as he looked towards the city.

Spock considered what the next logical step should be. If the small variation in elevation proved ineffective, then continued attempts to establish contact would be illogical. Among the ground crew, he was the only one equipped with a tricorder. Preliminary readings showed no evidence of radio interference, but further investigation could prove beneficial. "Should your attempts fail, you are to enter the temple and ascertain the whereabouts of Ambassador Eldridge. When you find him, apprise him of our situation and guard him against all possible hostile engagements."

"You think these people want him dead?"

"It has been my observation that these attacks are against a Thelosian settlement, but the possibility that Thelosians are themselves responsible cannot be excluded at the present."

"Yes, sir" Carter said. He gave a quick salute before he jogged to the stairs and loped upwards.

ooo

Dazed and disoriented, Kirk staggered to his feet. He shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. For a moment, he thought the explosion had made him color blind. The world had gone gray. Examining his hands, he found a thick coat of dust covering him from head to toe.

As he stumbled forward on unsteady legs, he drew the collar of his parka higher to cover his mouth and nose. He made his way to the litter of unstable rubble that filled the street. Even before he reached the central blast zone, he knew Folsen was dead. He wiped at a warm trickle along his temple, impervious to the sight of his own blood. Bodies were everywhere, both moving and still. The crowd pushed against him in every direction.

As the ringing in his ears subsided, the roar of panicked screams hit him like another blast. He came to a standstill and observed the phaser still clenched in his right hand. His eyes drew upward along his arm, finding a gash in his coat. With numb detachment, he removed a piece of shrapnel from his upper arm and prodded the wound. A distant part of his mind assessed that the glass hadn't bitten through enough muscle to cause substantial blood loss.

His mind began to clear. Retreating from the ruins of the building, he threaded his way through the crowd, redirecting anyone who was going the wrong way. He yelled for them to run to the temple. It was too dangerous to stay out in the open. Even if the temple was exactly where the attackers wanted everyone to gather, like sheep herded into a pen. The temple was the only fortifiable location.

Anger surged in him as he watched a fallen child taken into the arms of a complete stranger. Even amidst the chaos, Thelosians helped each other. They stopped mid-panic to keep from treading on those who tripped and to help them stand again.

When Kirk reached the clearing between the temple and the city's border, he found Spock herding groups upwards.

"Tell me the temple's safe," Kirk said when he drew close enough to be heard.

"There are underground chambers that may serve as fortification against further attack," Spock said.

Kirk nodded, having thought as much from his brief visit inside. "Have you reached the Enterprise?" Before Spock could answer, he turned to address an approaching group of distraught Thelosians. "Up there," he told them, gesturing to the stairs and the temple perched high above.

The group hesitated, looking at him pleadingly. He wasn't one of their shamans, but they knew him as a Starfleet officer. He set a reassuring hand one of the Thelosian's shoulders. He squeezed gently. "It's okay," he said in as soothing a tone as he could manage. "Follow the others."

The man's eyes fell to his lips as he spoke, trying in vain to translate. After a moment, the man seemed to understand. Kirk conveyed his meaning through the touch of his hand, the tone of his voice, and the fierce authority in his eyes. The Thelosian gave a small bow and said something to the group behind him. They moved to the stairs without looking back.

Spock observed the captain with distracted interest. A sooty coat of dust streaked across the man's sweat damp brow. Blue eyes were made unnaturally bright against the gray shade that painted the man's face. When those blue eyes turned to him, he gave his report. "I have not been successful in locating the interference with our communications. The tricorder detects no anomalies in the surrounding area."

Before Spock could inform the captain of Lieutenant Carter's whereabouts, the harsh staccato of what was unmistakably gunfire filled the air.

Drawing his phaser, Kirk ordered, "Secure the stairs."

"Captain, I must object to your apparent intention to again approach the source of disturbance." Spock observed a smear of blood along the captain's temple. There was a glistening dark patch in sandy blond hair. His captain was injured.

"Objection noted," Kirk said. Locking eyes with his first officer, he instructed, "Stay here. We still don't know what the hell is going on. Keep these people moving. If your position is jeopardized, I want you to head up to the temple with everyone else."

"I am of little assistance here. The Thelosians are capable of reaching the temple unaided. My presence at your side would be a more efficient use of my experience."

There was more gunfire and a renewed chorus of screams. Kirk's whole body tensed. He couldn't keep from taking a step in the direction of the noise. The need to help was overpowering. "I know, but Ambassador Eldridge is up there. Our priority is keeping him safe. It's still our mission."

When the captain turned, Spock saw the gash in the man's arm. Something inside him twisted at the sight of the open wound. "If your concern is for the ambassador, then I suggest you take shelter in the temple where you may seek his company and see to his safety yourself. If you insist on learning more of the attacks, I will endeavor to-"

Kirk cut Spock off. "I'm not sending you out there. Stay here for as long as you can, then get inside."

Kirk didn't allow for further debate. He jogged off, his form quickly enveloped in the thick haze of smoky air. Spock's placid expression tightened as he watched until all sign of the captain was gone. He did not understand the man's reasoning. If he didn't know from experience that Kirk had a strong instinct for survival, he might think the captain was throwing himself into harm's way without regard for the consequences. A captain was not as expendable as a first officer. If circumstances warranted one of them to subject themselves to danger, then the first officer was the logical choice.

With the aid of the translator, Spock employed several key phrases that urged the Thelosians to hurry and to take care on the steep stairs.

ooo

Kirk came across the source of gunfire. Unfortunately, the source of gunfire also came across him. By the looks of them, they were Thelosian. Were they a violent faction set against the Federation, or against the current Thelosian government? His mind ran through the possibilities. There weren't enough known variables.

The attackers' goal was to create panic, not to increase the body count. They shot their archaic bullets into the air.

A single phaser against a band of ten Thelosians was not what Kirk considered ideal odds.

Dust and smoke clogged the air. Jacket unzipped so he could move better, he adjusted the collar of his command shirt over his nose and mouth. Suddenly, Bones' suggestion to make filter masks part of the landing party's inventory seemed like a good idea. He squinted from his position on the stoop of a building.

His pulse jumped at the sound of bullets lodging into stone railing he crouched behind. He'd heard live gunfire once before, but only a single resounding bang. He had been seven years old when Sam had showed him the antique collection of shotguns in their neighbor's barn.

A violent attack against a peaceful civilization just didn't make any sense. Nor did the use of weaponry that was two centuries out of date. No, these people weren't at the same stages of development. He was thinking in terms of Terran weapon development. Machine guns, shotguns, pistols and revolvers, and every sort of barbaric weapon used in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Those were _Human_ inventions, but not exclusive to Humans. The harnessing of destructive forces was a universal development. Other species built bombs and weapons, similar enough to recognize by Terran standards.

Thelosians were not as peaceful as the shamans had led him to believe. Clearly, they had progressed beyond bows and arrows. There was still the possibility that outside forces had helped this progression or provided the weaponry. The possibilities were endless without more facts.

Another loud series of shots aimed his way told him to ask questions later. He waited for a break and returned fire. There was a lag in response. They were not well trained. Even as he shot down one gunman, the others conferred with each other before shooting at him again.

He managed to take down three others before his position became compromised. Backup came trooping down the street. He ducked inside the building, eyes scanning the area for something to barricade against the door. As he absorbed his surroundings, he realized that he was inside a home.

He swallowed thickly as he moved farther inside, finding evidence of the recent inhabitants. There was abandoned food and plates on a table and scattered toy-blocks on the floor. A family lived here.

The front door had a latch, but no lock. There wasn't time to secure his location. Weapon held aloft, he moved down the nearest hallway. He kept his steps silent and hugged the wall until he reached the first doorway.

He tested the latch. It opened. In a rush of movement, he threw the door wider and leveled his phaser around the room. All sections were clear. It appeared to be a child's bedroom. A low to the ground bed, too narrow and short for an adult, sat in the far corner. He considered using the bed as a barricade, but there were no windows to escape through.

The front door burst open and stomping feet quaked the ground. Cursing silently, he stepped behind the bedroom door and waited for his attackers to file in. They shouted orders at each other. Kirk was tempted to switch on the universal translator secured at his hip, but he could interpret the gist of what they were saying. They were looking for him.

It wouldn't take long for them to find him. His phaser had half of its charge left, which meant another twenty rounds to stun. He only had five kill shots left.

With steady fingers that betrayed nothing of the adrenaline in his veins, he adjusted his phaser setting. He didn't want to kill them. At point blank range, a stun would render them unconscious.

His breath caught in his throat as the first man stepped into the room. His body tensed with the need to surge forward. His instincts screamed for him to act. Like jerking the reins on a willful horse, he suppressed his initial reaction. Teeth gritted, he took a deep, silent breath.

The Thelosian, a six and a half foot mammoth, had reached the center of the room before glancing his way. It was a foolish move, one that reaffirmed how inexperienced these men were. The Thelosian's eyes widened upon spotting Kirk behind the door, but his shout never left parted lips.

A single shot to the chest and the man was down for the count. The others heard the commotion and stampeded his way. Lucky for him the doorway was narrow. Two more filed in and Kirk clipped them off without ever leaving his position.

There was a lapse before the next three came rushing in. Their attempt to sprint around the doorway failed to account for Kirk's deadly accuracy with firearms. With three shots fired so quickly that the buzz of energy sounded like a single long whine, they were down. The unconscious bodies formed a barricade of flesh, impeding the progress of the others.

There were more in the hallway. Kirk estimated at least ten others, but he couldn't be certain. He had ten shots to spare. Beyond ten, he would have to exchange his phaser for one of their archaic weapons.

His attackers seemed to understand that rushing into the room was a mistake, if the pile of bodies were any indication. A smoking canister rolled inside and Kirk knew he was in real trouble. Crouching low, he pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose again.

There was no escape. He choked on the first lungful of smoke that came his way. His lungs expanded with the murky haze of greenish brown smoke and suddenly felt on fire. His throat burned as if he had swallowed lye. The effect overwhelmed him. He doubled over in a coughing fit, desperate for air, but each breath brought greater agony than the last.

Watery eyes glanced around desperately for a window. Children needed windows in their bedrooms, didn't they? Why would this bedroom not have windows? He cursed Thelosians and their alien architecture.

Shaking his head, Kirk fought to focus his thoughts. A heady buzz told him there were sedative properties to the smoke. Holding his position was not an option. With all the grace of practiced drunk, he staggered around the doorway and into the hall. He fired at the first moving body, but strong hands were all over him in seconds. His eyes burned too much to keep open. Pain exploded against the side of his skull just before he blacked out.

ooo

The first sensation that breached Kirk's dark world was the press of a cool hand against his neck. Spock's baritone voice roused Kirk further. "Captain."

Kirk gave a mumbled reply. The hand at his neck disappeared.

"His pulse remains steady," Spock announced.

Kirk cracked an eye. A dim, filmy light streamed in through cracks on a boarded window above his head. "Spock?" he murmured, his voice breaking.

As he tried to sit up, his head throbbed and stomach rolled. The cool hand returned, pressing against his shoulder this time.

"Captain, it would be unwise to sit up so soon after regaining consciousness. Without a medical scanner, I cannot determine with any certainty if you have sustained a concussion. It is my belief that you should remain awake as a precaution."

Kirk's mind reeled to process Spock's clinical statements. Waving a hand in dismissal, he tried to sit up again. This time his first officer helped him, apparently resigned to his stubborn insistence.

"You should remain reclined."

"Yeah, I got that," Kirk assured. "I'm still gonna sit up."

"Indeed," Spock replied as he steadied the captain.

Reaching a tentative hand to the side of his head, Kirk felt the swollen lump and grimaced.

"Captain?" There was a note of concern in Spock's usually even tone.

"I'm fine," Kirk said, lowering his hand.

Blinking still watery eyes, Kirk took stock of his surroundings. In a small shed-like structure, he was on weaved mat that did little to separate him from the dirt packed ground. Spock knelt beside him, appearing no worse for the wear.

Across the small room, a group of Thelosians sat huddled together. He recognized several of the shamans, the Thelosian ambassador, and Ambassador Eldridge. Behind Spock, Lieutenant Carter hovered anxiously.

Despite his desperate need for water, Kirk croaked out, "Report."

Ambassador Eldridge broke away from the group and came over. He had a reedy figure that didn't quite fill out his high-collared dress shirt and black slacks. He wore his black hair slicked back. Even in the poor lighting, it had an oily sheen. He had mousy features, his lips almost too thin to see, and his eyes darted around as if afraid to settle on anyone for too long.

Spock spared the ambassador a brief glance before reporting to the captain. "As you aware, there was an attack on Belmar. The attackers have identified themselves as a group of Thelosian rebels called Brothers of the Relic."

"What do they want?" Kirk prompted.

"They have expressed a desire for what the shamans refer to as the Holy Relic. It is an artifact of unknown purpose, housed within the High Temple. I do not know if they have already obtained the artifact or why they chose violence as a means of making their demands."

Ambassador Eldridge cut in. "Thelosians worship the relic. It is the foothold of their beliefs. The insurgents desire its power for personal gain."

Kirk kept his attention on Spock. "What does the Federation have to do with this? Don't tell me the timing of the attack was coincidence."

Spock's sober eyes continued to study the captain for signs of distress. "Indeed not," he said.

Kirk sighed. "They wouldn't have needed a jamming device against the shamans. Are we hostages?"

"Affirmative," Spock replied.

Kirk gave a mirthless chuckle, but regretted it when his headache flared. Rubbing his temple, he sagged against Spock's bracing arm.

"Captain, you are injured," Spock said, his tone clipper than usual. For what purpose did his captain insist on ignoring these injuries? "You should rest."

"Just give me a hand," Kirk said as he made an attempt to scoot back against the wall. When he was situated, he set his head back, careful to avoid the throbbing lump. After several steady breaths, his nausea settled.

Though his expression remained controlled and blank, Spock's eyes simmered with concern and frustration. "Captain," he said in the same clip tone. He had not anticipated ever desiring Leonard McCoy's company, but the doctor's ability to cajole and badger the captain into submission would have been greatly appreciated.

"I know," Kirk said. "I'm being illogical. I should rest." He kept rubbing his temple. "But I doubt these rebels will put their plans on hold just because I've got a headache."

Spock felt a small flicker of resentment at having logic used against him. "It is at least some consolation that your ability to reason logically indicates you have not sustained brain damage."

Stunned into silence, Kirk's hand stilled at his temple. As the Vulcan's words repeated in his mind, he couldn't help but laugh. The joyous sound was short-lived when his head throbbed. He groaned and wrapped an arm around his chest to stifle movement. "I'm glad you still have a sense of humor. That's usually the first thing to go when you're taken prisoner."

"This is no laughing matter!" Ambassador Eldridge snapped.

Tired blue eyes sharpened. Since first picking the ambassador up from Starbase 6, Kirk had humbly acknowledged the man's authority. Starfleet wanted him to learn from Eldridge, to gain diplomatic experience. As such, Eldridge had assumed a kind of superiority over Kirk. This had been fine, since the man hadn't dared to lecture him on ship's operation. Kirk had swallowed his pride during the negotiations, listening to Eldridge's instructions to keep his mouth shut.

However, diplomacy didn't seem to be a language that the Thelosian rebels wanted to speak. It remained Kirk's duty to protect Eldridge. The man was under his authority now.

Pinning Eldridge in place with a sharp look, Kirk said, "Thank you for clearing that up. I was under the impression this was some sort of elaborate prank."

"Captain Kirk, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that it's imperative we contact Starfleet. They will acquiesce to the rebels' demands and arrange for our release. Now, if we can just talk with the rebels' leader-"

"The Federation doesn't negotiate with terrorists, Eldridge," Kirk said. "Our involvement in a civil feud needs to be minimal. We can't break the Prime Directive. Any demands they make for our release can't be met. We're on our own."

"Captain, between the two of us, I am better suited negotiate the terms of our release. If all they want is some relic-"

"They cannot have the relic," the Thelosian ambassador interjected from across the room.

The approach of voices from outside interrupted further debate.

The door swung open. A Thelosian leveled a gun around the room before landing on Kirk. Spock edged closer, attempting to shield the captain from view, but the Thelosian shouted at him.

Without his translator, Kirk was left guessing. He set a hand on Spock's shoulder and gently pushed his first officer away. Dark eyes snapped to him in disapproval, but Kirk only glanced to Ambassador Eldridge. "Does he want me to stand up?" he asked the ambassador.

"Y-yes," Eldridge said in a shaky voice. He nodded and gave a nervous smile to the rebel. "Hands on your head as you move."

Kirk complied, his movements slow and deliberate. "Easy, take it easy," he said in a soothing voice, locking eyes with the rebel.

For a moment, the rebel's eyes widened and stared at Kirk uncertainly.

Kirk never broke eye contact. "We're unarmed. Just take it easy."

The rebel's shoulders relaxed and he seemed about to lower his weapon, but Eldridge began speaking a fast stream of words. Kirk thought the ambassador might be begging for his life.

The rebel stiffened and gestured violently at the ambassador, shouting over Eldridge's almost sobbing pleas. Finally, when the rebel kept stabbing the air with his gun, Eldridge fell to the ground and covered his head.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" Eldridge began saying, switching to Standard in his distress.

A thoroughly riled rebel turned to Kirk and used his gun to gesture to the door.

Kirk knew it was useless to try and talk the rebel down again. Switching tactics, he decided to play the compliant prisoner. He would follow every order, hoping to dupe them into leaving him unguarded. Even a split second lapse could prove useful.

ooo

Orbiting Thelos, the Enterprise was on yellow alert. Lieutenant-Commander Montgomery Scott sat on the edge of the command chair and reviewed the latest sensor readings. Behind him, Dr. Leonard McCoy paced while he raved against malfunctioning technology.

"Those sensors can snap shots of an ant in a jungle from up here," McCoy said. "Why the hell can't they find a group of grown men?"

"It's not that simple, doctor," Scott said, his thick brogue in full force as his thoughts remained on the readings. With a deep frown, he stood from the chair and approached the science station. McCoy was hot on his heels. "Lad," he said to Chekov, "there's something not quite right here."

Chekov nodded and pulled the latest scans onto the flat panel above the station. "There is being much interference. We have been knowing this."

Eyes glued to the panel, Scott set a hand on the back of Chekov's chair. "Aye, lad," he agreed. "Interference enough to lose eyes and ears on our captain, but I'm referring to something that's missing."

Chekov's eyes flew over the console, double-checking his calculations and the scans. "It is the captain missing, no?"

"No, lad. He's down there alright. No one goes to this much trouble to hide something if it's not there."

"Then you are having to explain. I have adjusted the sensors the best I am able." The sensors projected garbled readouts of the planet's surface. Prior to losing the transmitter signals on the landing party, the readings had been crisp and focused. After an attempt to recalibrate and rescan the planet, it became clear that something was interfering. There was some distortion rebounding the sensors' signals.

"Aye, it's a fair sight better than I could manage meself. But where's the river?"

Chekov turned and regarded Scott with questioning eyes. "River?"

Scott's eyes left the panel, determination burning in them. Something had seemed strange about the scans, and now he realized what it was. He smiled triumphantly. They had their lead for cutting through the jamming signal.

Chekov's eyes grew comically large with sudden understanding. A stream of Russian left his lips. "There is being big river! Why have I not been seeing this?"

Chekov's hands flew over the console. Seconds later, the panel overhead became a split screen. Beside the obscure disfigured satellite imagery was a crisp aerial shot of a sprawling city with a sliver of dark water that wound its way through the valley.

"I'd bet me whole stash of scotch that the jam is coming from somewhere on this river."

"Yes," Chekov agreed. "There is not being interference enough to mask buildings." He gestured to the patch of light toned dots in the center of the valley. The buildings were just barely recognizable. But the river had disappeared completely. "The signal must be strongest by river."

"_Along_ the river," Scott mumbled under his breath, staring fiercely at the image. To obscure the length of the river, multiple points of interference would be necessary.

"Did you find him?" McCoy asked.

Scott shook his head. "No, doctor, but we've a better idea where to look."

McCoy wasn't satisfied. Jim was down there somewhere, probably rushing into danger instead of away from it.

ooo

Spock sat cross-legged, attempting to meditate. The captain had been gone for approximately 1.3 hours. Discussion with the shamans had proven ineffective. The Thelosian Ambassador kept insisting they protect the relic. Ambassador Eldridge chose to converse with the shamans in Thelosian rather than translate Spock's words. Lieutenant Uhura's linguistic skills would have been invaluable in such a situation.

Concentration breaking, Spock's thoughts fell into disorder. Between his concern for the captain and the squabbling voices nearby, he could not meditate. Panicked emotions battered against his mental shields.

The latch on the door jostled before the door was thrown open. Kirk stumbled in, his bottom lip split and swollen. Spock rose in a single fluid movement, hands reaching out to steady Kirk.

"I'm good," Kirk assured.

The guard who had pushed him inside cast a warning look around the shack before he stepped back and pulled the door shut.

Kirk shrugged Spock's hold off, but gave the Vulcan's shoulder a firm clap. "I've got some good news and some not so good news."

Spock thought to point out that Kirk's definition of "good" had a distressingly low standard. He kept his skepticism to himself and simply clasped his hands behind his back. He made a quick catalogue of Kirk's injuries, judging that a swollen lip was the only new addition.

"Did they hit you?" Carter asked, gesturing to the captain's mouth. The question behind the question was clear. _Were you tortured?_

Kirk shook his head. "No more than I hit them," he said. This earned a small smile from the young lieutenant.

A sound of horrified disdain came from Eldridge. "Provocation is not diplomacy. The most expedient means of winning our freedom is to concede to their demands."

Kirk ignored the comment. He was mildly amused by the ambassador's elevation in vocabulary. It was diplomatic posturing at its most pointlessness. The man didn't seem capable of maintaining face with a gun pointed at his head. "The good news is that we get a quick bite to eat in a little while, and they don't plan on executing any of us."

Eldridge shuffled forward, demanding the captain's attention by standing in front of him. "Of course they won't kill us. We're being held for ransom. We're no good to them dead."

Before Kirk could comment that Eldridge hadn't seemed as confident while begging for his life, Spock spoke up. "I believe the captain meant to imply that even those among us who might be considered expendable are granted the same assurance of safety."

"As always Mr. Spock, I couldn't have said it better myself."

"Quite the contrary, Captain. Your manner of speech tactfully avoided directly reminding Lieutenant Carter and the shamans that their lives were at greater risk than our own. I believe the phrase is 'softened the blow'. However, Ambassador Eldridge's incomprehension has warranted a more direct approach. I simply… _dumbed it down_."

Carter fell into a fit of nervous laughter, which became something more genuine when Kirk's infectious laugh filled the small shack.

The shamans gathered closer to Kirk, perplexed by the starship captain's amusement.

Kirk wiped at a tearful eye. "Spock," he said on a breathy exhale. Eyes alight, he regarded his first officer with a warm smile.

Spock's hands clasped tighter. He fought down a rush of satisfaction at the captain's reaction.

"Completely inappropriate!" Eldridge hissed.

Kirk held Spock's gaze, wholly unaware of anyone else. "I needed that. Thanks." His smile widened, showing a flash of white teeth. "Who says Vulcans don't have a sense of humor?"

Spock knew he should remind the captain that levity had no place when they faced such dire circumstances. Despite this, he said, "Dr. McCoy has repeatedly remarked that my inability to understand Human humor has a direct correlation with my Vulcan heritage."

Kirk didn't laugh as Spock had anticipated. Instead, he smiled in such a way that the corners of his eyes crinkled. A rosy flush came to his cheeks. His smile fell too quick, a wince taking its place as his lip stung. His pink tongue darted to the cut.

"You have reopened your wound," Spock observed. He took a step forward, but stopped short. Without a medkit, he could not help.

"It's fine." Kirk dabbed the sleeve of his coat to his mouth.

The shamans had gone quiet. They stared in open interest between Kirk and Spock.

"What's the bad news?" Carter asked, breaking the suspended moment.

Kirk cleared his throat. With some reluctance, he tore his eyes from Spock and glanced around the gathered group. "Once we eat, they're taking us to one of their main base camps." He turned to the head shaman. "I'm sorry. They already have the Holy Relic."

The Thelosian ambassador gasped, causing the shamans to look to him in confusion. When the ambassador translated Kirk's statement, the shamans deflated and gave Kirk pleading looks.

There was nothing Kirk could do for them.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek doesn't belong to me. This story is a work of fiction set in the world Gene Roddenberry and JJ Abrams created.

Imprint

Chapter Two

The rebels herded the prisoners in two lines. Wrists bound by rope, Kirk steadily worked his restraints loose. Beside him, Spock darted a disapproving gaze at his reddened wrists. Spock's own restraints were a titanium alloy. The rebels had some knowledge of Vulcan strength, but had failed to account for Human perseverance. Kirk had noted that the rebels didn't have stronger restraints for them all. They had resorted to the shredding strips of a shirt to bind several of the shamans. He wondered how many prisoners they had anticipated taking and how limited their resources were.

"Almost," Kirk hissed under his breath. He ignored the pain of coarse fibers rubbing against raw skin. It wasn't much worse than a rug burn.

As a rebel marched up beside him, Kirk lowered his hands to hide evidence of his efforts. Trucking along a dirt path between dense foliage, it was easy to overlook the subtle actions of single prisoner. When the guard moved to the head of the line, where the shamans and ambassadors were, Kirk resumed his efforts. "They didn't find the knife in my boot. If this rope doesn't give in ten minutes, I'll have to risk going for it."

Two Thelosian rebels followed behind Kirk and Spock. The guards kept their distance, occasionally throwing Kirk cautious looks. Their rifles hung carelessly at their backs. The longer it took them to grab their guns and aim, the better Kirk's chances were for escape.

"Captain, perhaps we should maintain our complacent façade and attempt to enter negotiations with the Brotherhood's leader."

Kirk glanced ahead at the lieutenant. When he spoke, it was barely loud enough for Spock's ears to catch. "I lied about none of us being expendable. This leader of theirs sounds like a serious bastard."

Spock listened intently, but kept his eyes focused ahead. His expression remained neutral.

"The foot soldiers who have us now don't have a clue what they're doing. They're not trained," continued Kirk. "They don't know what to do with us. No mental games, no interrogation. They just fumbled around with the translator and told me we were going on a road trip." Attention split between loosening his bindings and talking, he accidentally gnawed on his lower lip out of habit. With an inward curse, he soothed the swollen bit of flesh by running his tongue over it, tasting the tangy wound.

In Spock's periphery, he caught the captain's subtle wince. Eyes drawn to Kirk's mouth, he was tempted to advise the man not to speak, but it was clear that Kirk had come to some illuminating conclusion.

"We're headed to their base camp because they need new orders. They don't even have communicators, which leaves me wondering how the hell they jammed ours." Kirk made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and gave a sharp tug against the rope. "My guess is the lower shamans will be killed on sight. They'll want Eldridge, since he's more than happy to try and make a deal. Who the hell knows what they want from the Federation. Probably weapons. I doubt that you, me, or Carter will live long once their boss realizes we aren't saying Jack to the Federation."

Spock faltered over the captain's idiom, but parsed its meaning after a moment. Though Kirk's conclusions lacked a solid basis in fact, he could not deny the man's observations had an intuitive logic. Suppositions based on behavioral observations.

If the captain intended to make an escape, then it was Spock's duty to help. "I might attempt to create a diversion and afford you the opportunity to retrieve your knife. However, a blade will not sever my restraints. Without my unimpeded aid, your chances of fending off ten armed guards is approximately five point zero three percent."

"I've faced worse odds," Kirk said, sharing a knowing look with his first officer. "If I could manage to get a gun off of one of them, it could be enough."

Choreographing a jailbreak was easier said than done. The timing had to be perfect. Kirk didn't know how far from the camp they were, but it probably wasn't far enough to escape without reinforcements showing up.

Kirk's instincts told him that they'd be killed if they reached the camp. They needed to run. And they needed to do it soon.

A shout came down the line. The guards ahead gestured for them to stop walking. Kirk's pulse jumped. He waited long enough for the rearguards to walk past and join the rebels at the head of the line. If they had arrived outside the camp, then there was no time to waste. With only the most basic of plans in mind, he acted.

Kirk made a quick spot check on the rebel who carried a large satchel. Their phasers were probably in it. He stooped to the ground and retrieved the small pocketknife from the inner lining of his right boot. In a matter of seconds, he had his ropes cuts, but his actions had not gone unnoticed.

The nearest rebel shouted and started towards him while fumbling for his rifle. The shamans were too afraid to break formation, but their heads darted back to see what was going on.

"Captain," Carter prompted, turning and holding his hands out.

In swift, sure movements, Kirk severed the lieutenant's ropes. The Brotherhood's lack of tactical know-how might just prove to be his saving grace. Placing Starfleet officers at the back of the line had been their first mistake. Concentrating the guard detail at the front had been their second. He couldn't fathom the idiocy of committing both mistakes at the same time.

The approaching rebel was practically beside Kirk by the time he freed Carter. Spock swept in front of the captain. Before Kirk could utter a single protest, Spock baldly grabbed the muzzle of the rifle and wrenched it from the rebel's grasp. The move had been so quick that the gun was on the ground before the rebel even seemed to realize what had happened.

"Are you insane?" Kirk barked at Spock. The Vulcan didn't seem to be listening.

Even with his wrists bound, the Thelosian rebel posed no difficulty for Spock. His fingers took a fraction of a second longer to find the nerve cluster in the unfamiliar humanoid body, but he found it.

Kirk snatched the discarded rifle and made a quick study of it. Part of him begged for the rebels to give up and lay down their arms. They might have killed countless innocent civilians, but he didn't relish taking anyone's life. At the sight of a rifle barrel aimed his way, which placed the shamans and ambassadors in the line of fire, his hesitance disappeared.

"Spock, Carter, with me!" Kirk broke from the line and raced towards the line of trees along the path. A shot lodged in the ground several feet away. Another followed in quick succession, closer this time.

Teeth grit, Kirk dropped to one knee and took aim with the rifle propped against his shoulder. "Scatter!" he ordered. "Get behind the trees!"

Kirk pulled the trigger. For a split second, the loud bang drowned out the shouts coming from every direction. He missed his target, but not by much. The force of the recoil made his heart hammer. The shamans were literally running in circles, too afraid to make for the trees and be shot at, but also too afraid to stand in place.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw Carter reach the trees. A firm hand on his shoulder tried to move him. "Go, Spock!" he ordered.

"Captain," Spock said in reproval.

Kirk ignored his first officer, instead taking aim again. His next shot hit the nearest rebel in the chest. This caused the group to rethink their strategy. These were the same Thelosians who had tracked him into a house and tried to storm the child's room he'd hidden in. They knew better than to stand in the open when he was armed.

He waited long enough to observe the guard with the satchel issue orders to the others. As several of the rebels fell back to the trees on the other side of the path, Kirk aimed at him. It took two tries, but he got the guy in the leg. The rebel dropped to the ground, grabbing at his thigh and contorting in pain.

An iron grip clamped down on Kirk's upper arm and hauled him up. He didn't protest. He had been about to fall back anyway. Spock led him past the nearest tree, at which point he pulled away.

Kirk looked at Spock's cuffed hands with regret. He turned to Carter and offered the rifle. "Cover me."

"Captain, let me go for it," Carter said.

"No. You have better aim than me."

Spock straightened, his whole body tensing. "That is an unproven statement, Captain," he declared.

Kirk gave the lieutenant a playful smirk. "Then we'll just have to prove it."

Chest swelling with pride at the captain's confidence in him, Carter ran a practiced hand over the bolt handle and down to the magazine. He'd never handled this particular design, but any decent security officer could figure it out. "On your mark, sir," he said.

Kirk nodded and turned to Spock. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

Spock's nostrils flared as he released an agitated breath. A crease formed between his brows, but his features were otherwise impassive. "Captain, you are attempting to walk into the enemy's line of fire. The chances of your success without injury are-"

"Spock, it'll work," Kirk said, unable to suppress a grin. He watched Spock's dark brown eyes dilate at the familiar words. He didn't wait for a response. "Mark, Lieutenant," he called over his shoulder as he launched from his position and into the open.

It was a short distance to the fallen rebel. The man's comrades had been too preoccupied to drag him clear of fire. He doubted there was much honor among thieves and murderers.

Knowing that zipping bullets would pierce him the moment he stopped moving, Kirk decided he just shouldn't stop. He stooped and made a grab for the satchel. The injured rebel offered no resistance. The man didn't even try to raise his gun at him. The bag tore away and he kept moving forward, crossing the four-yard gap to the opposite side. The rebels had scattered, each positioned somewhere inside the forest's edge. Kirk almost laughed as they began shouting, clearly confused.

Logically, he should have grabbed the bag and turned around. But his instincts had compelled him to run straight across the path and take cover where they least expected. Feeling mildly nostalgic, he crouched behind the tree and listened to bullets lodging into bark.

He threw the satchel's flap open and rummaged through its contents. Three phasers, three communicators, two universal translators, one tricorder, one data pad, and what appeared to be a cylinder shaped black stone.

When the gunfire suddenly stopped, Kirk's stomach clenched tight. Time skewed, seconds becoming minutes. Silence descended over the fray like a damp blanket, clinging to everything. With nothing but the feel of his heartbeat in his throat and the whisper of his own breathing, he waited.

Ages seemed to pass before a shaky voice rang out. "Kirk!"

A cautious glance around the tree trunk revealed Ambassador Eldridge held at gunpoint.

"Shit," Kirk hissed. Bad things happened when enemies realized how easily they could blackmail Starfleet officers by threatening subordinates and innocent bystanders.

"Captain!" Carter called. The lieutenant edged into view, rifle raised.

Kirk shouted back, "Stay back!"

Eldridge made a simpering noise when the rebel shoved him forward, gun pressed to the back of his neck. "Captain Kirk!" Eldridge called again.

Breathing in deep measured breaths, Kirk cleared his head. Strapping a phaser and communicator to his hip, he stored the other items in his jacket pockets and slung the tricorder over his shoulder. The pockets bulged and it was uncomfortable, but he remained conscious of the Prime Directive and knew he couldn't leave behind any advanced technology. He stared for a curious moment at the strange stone, then flipped it in the air and caught it with the sort of nonchalance that most of the admirals hated him for. It was an unimpressive piece of polished rock, but he had a hunch that it was the Thelosians' prized Holy Relic. He briefly wondered why they would have just tossed it a bag like they had, but everything in the bag would be considered priceless to insurgents eager to collect high tech gadgets from other worlds.

Standing, Kirk stepped out into the open and raised his hands, the stone held in plain sight. "What do they want, Eldridge?" he asked, locking eyes with the ambassador.

"Look what you've done!" Eldridge accused. His bound hands trembled.

"Ambassador," Kirk said in a deceptively calm voice, "I can see you're in a difficult position."

"Get this gun off my head!" Eldridge snapped.

Kirk shifted his gaze and caught the rebel's eye. He waved the stone, a sense of triumph overcoming him when the rebel appeared shocked and worried. "Take the gun off the ambassador and we can talk about you getting this rock back."

After a moment of pregnant silence, Kirk prompted, "Eldridge, how about you make yourself useful and translate what I just said."

The ambassador complied. Kirk's eyes traveled around the clearing. The shamans and Thelosian ambassador were huddled in a group, almost ten yards down the path. A rebel, just visible behind a tree, had a gun trained on them. That left six rebels unaccounted for, hiding somewhere in the trees.

Kirk's attention returned to Eldridge when the man spoke. "He says the Holy Relic is useless to you. You can't activate it."

In a blur of motion, Kirk drew his phaser and pointed it at the stone. The rebel holding Eldridge cried out and aimed at him. "I don't want to activate it. I'll destroy it without batting an eye. Now lower your weapon." Kirk looked expectantly at Eldridge, who began translating.

Kirk was surprised at how quickly the rebel stepped back, gun pointed to the ground. In a show of good faith, Kirk lowered his phaser.

"Captain," Eldridge began, "we're outnumbered. If you just do as they say and let me talk to their leader, I promise we can get out of this."

Fighting back a derisive scoff, Kirk simply shook his head. "I'm sure you'd be very persuasive, but some people aren't open to making deals." He wasn't necessarily referring to the Brotherhood's leader. If they weren't killed on sight, then the Federation's refusal to make a deal would ensure a death sentence. "I can't take a chance with the lives of my men." A leader whose first order of business was bombing civilians didn't seem like a very reasonable guy.

From his position, Spock could see Kirk and the unfolding standoff. He heard the faint rustle and crunch of running feet. Turning his attention towards the western rise of the path, where the camp lay, he had the distinct displeasure of sighting rebel reinforcements. Their dark clothing blended in with the low hanging branches of clustered trees.

Acting on the same intuitive logic that Kirk frequently utilized, Spock sprinted in fluid strides towards the captain.

Kirk had a brief moment to question what his first officer was doing before he was tackled to the ground. Gunfire, which would have hit Kirk, impacted the soft dirt near the ambassador's feet.

Despite the cushioned spring that the damp soil gave while walking on it, Kirk found the ground to be unforgiving when he landed with a fully grown Vulcan on top of him. The air rushed from his lungs and his vision darkened for several precious moments. His earlier headache came back with a vengeance. Before he could orient himself again, a demanding grip on the front of his jacket yanked him to his feet and dragged him behind the line of trees. Kirk distantly considered that all this dancing around trees was like a high stakes game of peek-a-boo.

"Captain, are you unharmed?" Spock asked as he leaned Kirk's sagging form against the tree's trunk. In his haste, he had not calculated the force of impact against his captain. As a Human, Kirk's mass was less dense and bones more brittle. The man had fallen with alarming ease. The effort currently required to prop Kirk against the tree was minimal. He often found himself at odds with his strength when touching Nyota. Kirk did not appear fragile, but under his hands, the man could break.

After taking a wheezing breath, Kirk fought to find his voice. His thoughts were spinning. "Warn a guy before you tackle him," he managed to answer.

"I shall endeavor to declare my intentions should an occasion again arise that necessitates such physical force."

"You do that," Kirk muttered. He fumbled inside his jacket for Spock's phaser and communicator. Suddenly realizing he was missing both his own phaser and the relic, he tried to dart a look around the tree. Spock's hold prevented him. "The relic," he said. Spock understood what he meant and stepped back.

Still a little stunned, Kirk stumbled forward a step before catching his balance. Spock's dark eyes watched him intently. Forgoing further assurances that he was okay, he looked to the pathway.

Eldridge had already rejoined the shamans. Kirk didn't see his phaser, but the black stone sat in the middle of the path. The rebel who'd held Eldridge moments before had already reached it. As the man retrieved the relic, Kirk lost his last chance at gaining leverage.

"Captain, I suggest we retreat."

"Agreed," Kirk said. "But not without Carter and Eldridge."

"Ambassador Eldridge will not be inclined to join us. I believe you are correct in your assertions that the ambassador's life shall be spared. Therefore, it would expedient to exclude him from our party."

"I hate that you're right," Kirk said. Hunkered low, he cast a furtive look at the Thelosian rebels breaking into the clearing. They were still a good fifty yards off, but their accuracy with weapons was clearly superior to the schmucks who'd taken them captive. They would have shot him if Spock hadn't intervened. "We'll head east. On my mark, we cross and get to Carter."

Holding a phaser out, Kirk asked, "Think you can still shoot, Commander?" His lips twitched as he fought to keep from smiling. This was the first mission of his career and the second time Spock was fighting at his side. Despite staggeringly poor odds, he felt like anything was possible.

A single sharp eyebrow quirked upwards in response to the captain's question. Spock accepted the phaser and adjusted the setting a notch above stun. "I believe I can manage, Captain."

Kirk rushed into the open first, with Spock barely a step behind. They leveled their phasers towards the approaching reinforcements and made a run for the other side of the path. Without needing the order, Carter used the rifle to give a little more cover for them.

The sound of a high-pitched whine grabbed Kirk's attention. They were nearly to tree line. For a brief moment, he saw the black stone in the rebel's hand point in his direction. Black became a brilliant white. The next second, a bruising shove from Spock sent him clear off the path.

The clearing filled with a bright flash. Kirk shielded his eyes, expecting the sudden blast of an explosion. But the flash winked out, leaving everyone stunned. The shamans were the first to react by shouting.

That's when Kirk saw the fallen form of his first officer. A heavy weight plummeted in his chest, sinking down until his lungs couldn't expand to take in air. He scrambled to his feet, heedless of reinforcements nearly upon them.

"Spock!" Kirk yelled, rushing close until he nearly tripped over the Vulcan. He dropped to his knees with a painful thud. Steady but frantic hands pulled at the obscuring hood of the parka. This wasn't real. This wasn't happening.

"Spock?" he murmured in dazed disbelief. Blue eyes scanned the surrounding area for answers, searching for body parts or something that would explain why there was a small Vulcan swaddled in his first officer's uniform.

"Captain!" Lieutenant Carter yelled, darting into the open. He fired at the rebels until his bullets ran out, then he dove for the phaser that Kirk had dropped.

When lieutenant grabbed Kirk's arm and tried to pull him up, he shirked the hold off and ordered, "Get to the woods."

Carter ignored the order and took up a position at Kirk's side. He opened fire once again, heedless of every near miss that the rebels returned.

Forcing down his rage, Kirk battled against the desire to take out as many rebels as he could. Teeth clenched, he did the only thing he could think to do. He grabbed Spock's fallen phaser and gathered the misshapen body into his arms. "Let's move!"

Adrenaline pumping, Kirk ran as fast as he could. The landscape passed in a blur. Carter provided cover fire, trailing close behind. He didn't look down at what he carried. He tried not to think about it. Escape was their priority.

Kirk felt like he was running in dream. No matter how hard he pushed, his movements were sluggish. The forest was dense. Most of his effort went towards ducking and dodging stray branches. The zigzagging course became increasingly frustrating.

"My phaser's drained," Carter panted, drawing even with the captain.

Kirk considered handing over his own phaser, but thought it better to save ammunition. "Haul ass, Lieutenant," he instructed, hefting the load in his arms.

"Is that Commander Spock?" Carter asked. He whipped out an arm to knock a branch aside.

"What's left of him," Kirk returned, bowing under a branch and trying to keep his center of gravity despite the added weight. He ignored the scrape of pine-like needles against his cheek. He was numb to pain. His mind kept replaying that moment before the relic had flashed white. Spock had seen it and pushed him out of the way. Why hadn't he noticed in time? Why had he crossed to the wrong side of the path? If he had just grabbed the satchel and turned back around, this wouldn't have happened.

Carter swore a blue streak that would have made McCoy proud, but had the presence of mind not to continue talking.

Kirk's sense of distance became distorted. The terrain was uneven and their course non-linear. He knew that they were headed away from the rebel's encampment, but he suspected they were also moving away from the main city. He had no clue where the nearest village was located, or if the people there were aligned with the Brotherhood.

"Take my communicator. Try hailing the Enterprise," Kirk said, slowing long enough for Carter to grab the device from his hip. He took the lead and let Carter follow while working the dials.

"Still jammed."

Kirk didn't swear, because captains weren't supposed to show panic. His first officer was presumed dead, a lifeless reduction of limbs in his arms. Protocol would keep the Enterprise in orbit, unless instructed otherwise by Command. If he knew what type of jamming device was being used then he might have an idea of its range.

Though he was essentially running blind through enemy territory, Kirk managed to find his stride while his mind worked in rapid revolutions. The rebels weren't in close pursuit, which either meant that they didn't care about capturing a couple of Starfleet officers, or they had plans to catch up by some other means. Counting on a worst-case scenario, he didn't slow down even when he was certain they had evaded immediate capture.

"I think we lost them," Carter gasped.

"We'll stop when we're sure," Kirk said. He strained his ears, listening beyond the sound of his own labored breaths.

Another four kilometers, or what seemed like four kilometers, and Kirk called a halt. There was an outcropping of rock on the hillside. Behind the cover of the rocky recess, he set Spock's lifeless form down and took out his data pad. Without a link to the ship, he couldn't receive new data. But the preliminary report and mission parameters were still backlogged.

When he found what he was looking for, he felt a stirring of hope. He had a map of the planet. It wasn't detailed, but he read between the lines, making an educated guess on their current location.

In a worst-case scenario, there would be a number of rebel outposts. Probably small, like the one they'd just come from, little more than shanty sheds and a fire pit. The river was east of the main camp, but everyone needed water. There would definitely be an outpost somewhere to the east. They would need to divert south-east, hopefully avoiding the outpost.

Kirk related his findings to Carter. He gestured to the small screen. "We'll get as far south as we can while going east, toward the levy outside the city."

"The insurgents are in the city, aren't they?"

"They're a minority there. There are a lot of Thelosians who might be willing to help us." In his experience, even the most peaceful person became royally pissed when someone bombed his or her home. Revenge was a powerful motivator that he would exploit if he had the chance.

Kirk stored his pad away. "If anything happens, just head for the river."

Before moving out again, Kirk had to deal with Spock. As his adrenaline ebbed away, the heavy ache in his chest took over. Eyes fixed on the lame bundle at his side, his breaths grew shallow and uneven.

His hands shook as he gently spread the hood's opening. He had to force himself to look beneath. With a clear view, he puzzled over the unrecognizable, yet familiar sight.

Lax features were pale and disturbingly youthful. Fuller cheeks, small nose, a faint dusting of freckles. Kirk didn't understand. It was the face of a child. A _Vulcan_ child as indicated by the upswept eyebrows and pointed ears. A panicked voice in the back of his mind kept repeating, '_This is Spock_.'

There was a flicker of movement behind closed eyelids. Kirk's breath caught in his chest as he dared to believe that Spock was alive. Another flicker had his hopes soaring.

"He's alive," Kirk hissed, his voice caught between relief and disbelief.

"What happened to him? Is he… younger?" There didn't seem to be an appropriate term for it.

The seeming impossibility kept Kirk from fully accepting what his eyes saw. Surely this was some deformity.

Violet-green eyelids snapped open. Wide brown eyes darted around, searching without success for the sight of something familiar.

"Spock?" Kirk called tentatively.

The young Vulcan met electric blue eyes. Spock read a mixture of fear and confusion in those Human eyes. Encumbered by a large jacket and twisted pant legs, he sat up with slow precision, compensating for his lack of mobility. He gave a puzzled frown at loose handcuffs and slipped them off. He scanned the small rock enclosure and the wooded expanse beyond. Eventually, he settled his attention back on the blond haired Human. "I am Spock," he said in a small, level voice. "You know my name, but I profess to having no knowledge of who you are or how I came to be here."

Swallowing a groan, Kirk asked, "You're really Spock?"

"He's a kid," Carter declared.

Spock's eyes flickered back and forth between the penetrating gaze of bright blue eyes and the restless pacing of the dark haired man.

"Lieutenant, keep a look out," Kirk directed.

Remembering himself, Carter snapped to attention. "Aye, Captain," he said before making his way to the recess's edge.

Spock pulled his attention from the dark haired man and answered the blond. "I am S'chn T'gai Spock, son of Sarek."

Kirk accepted the answer with pause. The sight of the relic's white glow and blinding flash replayed through his head. Between time travel and alternate universes, an age regressing black stone wasn't too farfetched. "You don't recognize me?"

"I do not," Spock said. An edge of uncertainty entered his eyes as he once again scanned his surroundings. "Nor do I recognize my present location." What he did recognize was that the penetrating cold in the air was like nothing on Vulcan.

Kirk prepared to ask the fatal question. "How old are you?"

"I am approximately thirteen years, two months, four days, and an indeterminate number of hours old."

As implications rattled around in Kirk's head, he plowed on with an increasing sense of urgency to fix the situation. "What do you remember?"

"I was in my home," Spock said succinctly. "This is not Vulcan." While discovering himself inexplicably transported from his home was perplexing, finding that he was off-planet was downright distressing.

"No," Kirk agreed.

"Captain," Carter hissed over his shoulder. "I think I hear them."

"First thing's first," Kirk muttered to himself. Crouching, he slipped a hand to his boot and produced his knife.

Spock edged back, eyeing the knife narrowly.

Kirk held his hands up. "Relax, it's for your pant legs." Spock's boots were gone. They'd probably slipped off when he rushed from the clearing, or at any point while running.

"These are not my clothes," Spock observed. He rubbed the material to determine its properties. "How have I come to be here?"

"You're gonna have to trust me. I'll answer your questions later, but right now it's not safe to stay here."

"You suggest that I trust you, yet your actions are suspect. As it stands, I am inclined to believe you have abducted me." He lifted the handcuffs for inspection.

Kirk flipped the knife over and grasped the flat of the blade. He held it out for Spock. "Cut the excess hem. Wrap the pant strips around your feet. Tighten your belt."

The command in Kirk's voice was gentle, but compelling. His steady gaze instilled a quiet sense of urgency. Spock read these contradicting emotions with confusion. Reaching out, he accepted the knife and followed each direction with mechanical proficiency. There was no belt, but a long strip cut from the leg of his pant sufficed.

Kirk spoke while Spock worked. "I'm going to carry you on my back." He pulled out his data pad once again. Not knowing whether he should treat the boy like a helpless child or like a competent Starfleet officer, he settled for the latter. Vulcans were competent at any age, or so Spock led him to believe.

"If we get separated, this is where you need to go." He gestured to the screen, drawing a line from their current location eastward. The plan was crude, but even a child could understand instructions on a point-and-go level. He pulled out his communicator and showed how it opened. "There's a starship in orbit of this planet. We can't communicate with her right now, but if we get far enough away, we might be able to." The daunting reality was that Kirk didn't know if he was moving closer or farther away from the jamming signal.

Sober awareness in large brown eyes was unsettling on such a young face. Kirk was all too aware of what it meant to grow up too fast. Apparently, he and Spock had more in common than he had thought.

Spock nodded his understanding.

Belatedly, Kirk realized he hadn't introduced himself. He didn't like that it was necessary, but situations such as these rarely paid any courtesy to what he would have liked. "My name is Jim Kirk. I'm Captain of the USS Enterprise. That man over there is Lieutenant Bret Carter." Darkly amused that he was introducing himself to his first officer, he smiled. "Call me Jim."

Spock nodded once more.

Carter called over his shoulder, "Captain?"

Kirk didn't acknowledge the lieutenant. He held Spock's gaze. "You're going to have to trust me," he reiterated.

Spock didn't know how to respond. Logically, he had no reason to trust this man. He couldn't form any conclusions until he had observed more of his surroundings. In place of words, he held out the knife to indicate his compliance.

Kirk closed the switchblade and handed it back. "You keep it," he directed. "Put it in one of your pockets."

Spock recognized the gesture for what it was, an offer of assurance and an attempt to gain his trust. He stowed the knife away.

Still crouched on the ground, Kirk turned around. With his back to Spock, he patted his shoulder. "Climb on."

"I am capable of walking without assistance." The thin strips of material on Spock's feet offered minimal protection.

Kirk glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Despite the urgent circumstances, he felt oddly lighthearted. Minutes ago, he had believed his first officer to be dead. Now there was hope. Even better, there was Spock. "We're not walking. We're running."

A sudden sensation of unease overcame Spock. From what little this man had told him, there was an unspecified danger in approach. They were "_on the run_," as his mother might have said. It occurred to him that the pursuers were in fact a rescue team sent to retrieve him. They might be his allies, while the man claiming to be a captain might be his enemy.

Refusing this bright eyed, smiling Human was a chance that Spock was not willing to take. Having no indication of the pursuers' claims or actions, the statistical likelihood that they were his allies was less than 20 percent. This captain had already made several gestures of peace, even going so far as to allow Spock a weapon.

Standing, but not moving closer, Spock eyed the blond man with continued suspicion.

Kirk could read none of the back and forth calculations going on in Spock's head. The boy's eerily neutral expression didn't twitch or flicker. Sensing uncertainty where he saw none, he shifted around.

"My job right now is to keep you safe. We're in danger if we stay here. Put your arms around my neck and wrap your legs around my waist. I'll hold you in place." Giving no room for argument, he turned back around with the evident expectation for obedience.

Spock moved behind the kneeling Human. Immeasurably grateful that the man could not see his face, he set a tentative hand on Jim's shoulder. He spotted the tear in the coat's arm and the damp ooze of clotting blood in the material. "You are injured," he said, his hand dropping away.

"It's just a scratch," Kirk said. Déjà vu struck him at the strange concern for his injuries that this boy and his first officer shared. "I don't mean to scare you, but a few scrapes and bruises will be the least of our worries if we don't hurry."

Spurred by Jim's undertone of urgency, Spock leaned closer, almost flush against the man's backside. Suppressing his embarrassment, he set his hands on firm shoulders. Before he could figure out the next step, Jim surged forward and upright. Instinctively, his arms encircled the man's neck. Strong hands grasped the backs of his knees, drawing them to hug slim hips. His position felt precarious, as though he might fall at any moment. It was an utterly undignified position.

Warmth radiated off the man's backside. This starship captain was Human like his mother. Warm to the touch. Spock was careful not to touch bare skin, but he could still feel the heat through layers of clothing.

Kirk joined Carter at the enclosure's edge. "Alright, let's go."

TBC…

**Author's note: **You guys are so freaking awesome! Thank you to all who reviewed. Sorry there wasn't a lot of face time between Kirk and kid!Spock. But there's plenty in the next chapter. I'll post again in a few days. Please tell me what you think. ^_^

Things got a little more action packed and drawn out than I initially planned, but there's nothing like life and death situations to bond people together… right?

The story isn't beta read, so I'm sorry for any errors with typos/grammar/strange sentence structure. I'm a pretty big gerund abuser. My creative writing professor wanted to murder me because of it, but I can't shake the habit. That reminds me, I'm in the market for a beta. Any offers? *gives puppy dog eyes * You'll get to yell at me for using words like "rebel" fifty times in a single paragraph!


	3. Chapter 3

Imprint

Chapter Three

Kirk set a daunting pace. "You okay?" he gasped, hitching Spock higher and reaffirming his hold on the boy's legs.

"The experience is unpleasantly jarring," Spock stated, his teeth clacking together as Jim jumped to avoid a protruding root. Seconds later, he ducked his head against Jim's shoulder to avoid a low branch. "However, I am sufficiently supported and do not require further accommodation." When he'd first settled against Jim's back, he had been highly self-conscious and failed to understand the logic in _being carried_. Humans were notoriously weaker than Vulcans. Though Jim was an adult, his physical strength was not much greater than Spock's own.

Spock had amended his earlier assessment and concluded that Jim's logic had been sound. The speed with which Jim moved was greater than Spock could have achieved. His relatively short stature and inadequate footwear would have impeded their progress. He kept a firm hold as Jim moved in fluid leaps, avoiding a tangled web of roots and stray bracken. For a Human, the captain was impressively agile. The darker haired Human, Lieutenant Carter as Jim had introduced him, was less physically adept.

Kirk didn't press the issue of Spock's discomfort. There was no helping the bumpy ride, but he was worried that lingering effects of the relic's discharge would surface. Apart from the obvious age regression, he had no clue what else the relic might have done. He was too busy trying not to trip to bother voicing his concerns. As he changed directions to circumvent a hill-sized boulder, he asked, "How close is Carter?"

Spock looked behind, careful not to unbalance the precarious weight distribution between himself and Jim. "His distance continues to increase incrementally. His speed is insufficient to your own. I estimate another two kilometers before he is no longer within visual range."

Kirk barked over his shoulder, "On the double!"

"Aye, Captain!" came the distant acknowledgment.

They had left the cliff's enclosure before the rebels sighted them, but danger was on their trail. For the past two hours they had been running non-stop. Kirk's lungs felt tight and hard. His body dampened with sweat, and dehydration became an increasing concern.

Unfortunately, his point-and-go plan of heading east was not easily accomplished. The nondescript map he used as reference failed to indicate the giant boulders that seemed to spring up out of nowhere and the rocky ditches that dipped too deep to cross.

If he had to change course one more time, he might as well turn around and head straight towards the hunting party.

It was dusk when Kirk finally relented. The trees had darkened to black silhouettes. The patches of sky visible beyond towering tree limbs were pastel hues of orange and pink. A few stars were visible, twinkling specs that made Kirk feel very far from home. The smallest glimpse of the Enterprise would have put him at ease.

If not for Spock calling his attention to the obscure entrance to a cave, Kirk would have missed it. It was less a cave and more a hooded recess between two boulders, but it was still a shelter for the night.

The rebels would renew their efforts by morning. Their knowledge of the land gave them a strong advantage. Kirk would stake his captaincy that there were numerous outposts along the river. The hunting party need only signal an outpost and form another team of hunters to come at them from another direction.

Kirk wanted to keep moving and use the cover of night, but exhaustion had already set in.

Carter collapsed inside the rocky alcove, heedless of the damp ground. The lieutenant panted hoarsely, his prone form not even twitching as Kirk moved around him.

Crouching, Kirk helped Spock dismount. The boy stumbled, limbs stiff and uncooperative. He took a few minutes to catch his breath. Sitting beside Carter, he gave the lieutenant's shoulder a reassuring pat. In careful, methodical movements, Kirk stretched his sore muscles. He needed to keep his body loose or he'd be too tight to even stand up by morning.

While he stretched, he scanned his data pad. He couldn't pinpoint their current location. The GPS function couldn't connect with the jamming interference. He estimated another three days before they reached the river.

Kirk rummaged through his jacket. Emergency field rations were stored in one of the many pockets that lined the all-purpose parka.

There were a total of three energy bars and water packets. Spock's coat would have three of each, and the lieutenant's another three. The finger-sized rations were packed with calories, but it wouldn't be enough to sustain them until they reached the river. Stretched thin, a single bar could keep a desperate man going for a couple days.

Dehydration was his main concern. His head throbbed and he knew it was a symptom of dehydration. With any luck, it would rain. For now, they would split the rations and worry about further provisions in the morning.

"Here," Kirk said, offering the unappealing ration to Spock. It resembled a piece of jerky and was about as tough as leather. "It tastes like cardboard, but it's better than nothing."

Spock eyed the bar for a prolonged moment.

Kirk chuckled quietly. "It's vegetarian," he said. "Meat is too gourmet for emergency rations." He selected a bar for himself, but thought better of it. If he ate anything with his stomach in knots, he'd just throw it up. He would wait until his body had cooled down.

Spock gave a small nod and accepted the food. He held the wrapper in place, taking care not to touch the bar itself. The lieutenant drained a water packet in a matter of seconds. Jim didn't touch his food or water, though Spock was certain the man required fluid intake.

Unstrapping his phaser, Kirk set it next to Carter and stood up. "Carter, keep watch until I get back."

"Captain?" Carter intoned incredulously, his eyes pleading. The stitch in his side flared when he breathed and his head throbbed at every subtle movement. He just wanted to sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

Kirk shook his head, masking all trace of sympathy. "We're not safe, Lieutenant."

"Where do you intend to go?" Spock asked, standing as if he intended to follow.

"I'm going to set decoy trails, hopefully lead our shadows in circles when they catch up." Kirk glanced heavenward, estimating how much light he would have to see by. The sun had set, leaving little more than a pale orange trace of light in the western edge of the sky. Thelos had a faster rotation than Earth, spinning on a twenty hour cycle.

Dark shapes seemed to lurk behind every tree. Navigating without light was a calculated risk he would have to take. With a reassuring squeeze to Spock's shoulder, he said, "I won't be long." Not waiting around for the boy to inform him that _long_ was an inaccurate and nondescript measurement of time, he set off.

After watching Jim's form disappear behind the blending shadows of distant trees, Spock turned around and began an examination of the small alcove. There was a loose layer of topsoil that was soft and giving, but it was also damp and cold. Spock could feel the ground draining body heat through the flimsy strips wrapped around his feet. The uneven surface of the walls was colder than the ground. The rock itself was a pale violet color. He was tempted to take a scraping. There was clearly some naturally occurring mineral in the soil that gave the trees and rocks a violet tint.

Carter ate his depressingly small ration with enthusiasm before he settled back against the side of the rock wall. He stared openly at Spock. "Are you really Commander Spock?"

Seating himself opposite the Human, Spock answered, "As I have no knowledge of being a Starfleet officer, it would be logical to conclude that I am _not_ Commander Spock."

"But you're still him, aren't you? I mean, you're just younger somehow. The relic changed you."

Though Spock had had approximately 7.4 hours to contemplate his situation, he had not received new information regarding his presence on an unknown planet. It would have been inappropriate to ask his questions whilst Jim had a limited capacity for speech.

Posture straightening, Spock's even expression tightened with concealed anxiousness. Weighing the lieutenant's words carefully, he addressed the most fascinating and distressing implication. "You have previously expressed concern regarding my age. I have no knowledge of the relic to which you refer. Nor do I recall any encounter with this unknown device or any effects on my physical person."

"You were older," Carter asserted. Head falling back, he slouched in exhausted defeat.

"Are you suggesting that I have regressed in age, a highly improbable act abetted by some type of relic device?"

Carter grunted as his head dipped forward, chin resting against his chest.

Spock shifted away from the alcove's wall. He considered reminding the lieutenant that Jim had told him to keep alert. Though his questions remained unanswered, he concluded that the lieutenant's enervated state would provide unreliable information. Humans were a weak species, prone to lies and inaccuracies even when they commanded the full capacity of their limited mental faculties.

Deciding to wait for Jim's return before attempting to formulate his conclusions, Spock meditated and sought a calmer frame of mind. His mental barriers were frayed. Beneath the surface of his calm countenance were fear, distrust, confusion, and anxiety.

Above all other emotions, anxiety had chipped away at his forced emotional restraint. He attempted to mend the damage. He needed patience and a calm mind to accept the reality of his circumstances, whatever that reality might be.

Spock found the deeper reaches of meditation elusive. Physical stimuli interfered with his concentration. His ears were hyper sensitive to the creak of tree bows and rustling of needles in the faint breeze. Shrill caws and hoots answered back and forth from high above. There were animals prowling about, their scurrying feet scraping against tree bark. The pervasive notion that danger crept nearer prevented him from attaining true calm.

Spock's meditation broke down completely when he recalled the sensation of Jim's jostling movements. It was a phantom sensation of the man's body moving, muscles contracting, joints bending. He had never experienced such prolonged physical closeness with another being. He hesitated to categorize the sensation as unwelcome. His bred aversion to physical contact had made him uncomfortable for the duration of being carried, but he'd felt safe while pressed against Jim's back.

An unknown pursuant tracked them. As captain, Jim was the leader. Spock had catalogued all of Jim's actions since first encountering the man. Jim had delivered clear and concise orders, and a firm type of encouragement to the lieutenant. Despite being Human, the man had not succumbed to the over emotionalism that such high stress situations might induce in other Humans. There was no panic or hesitancy in Jim, only constant action and confident decision-making.

It was only logical that Spock felt safer in Jim's presence, because statistically he _was _safer. His chances of survival jumped from 32.972 percent to 83.975 percent with Jim's aide. His calculations did not factor in the possibility that the rebels intended him harm. Despite Jim's assertions, he had no concrete evidence of such claims.

As Spock ended his failing endeavor to meditate, he became keenly aware of his vulnerable position. Jim was gone and Lieutenant Carter was asleep. He opened his eyes and surveyed the dark night. He was alone.

A tremor wracked his frame. The column of his back became colder each passing moment. The stone he leaned against leached his warmth away. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he burrowed deeper inside his over-sized jacket. A wave of contrite emotion threatened to spill forth.

He was not on Vulcan. He had no knowledge of how he'd come to be on a strange planet and in the company of two unfamiliar Humans. He returned to the possibility of abduction. His father had pressed him to excel in the art of hand-to-hand combat and master Suus Mahna before he was eleven. As an ambassador's son, there was greater risk of abduction and his father had made it clear that his life was forfeit should it come at the expense of the greater good.

Torn from his musings, Spock caught the sound of approaching footsteps. His head whipped to the side, wide eyes staring into the darkness beyond the alcove's entrance. A shadowy figure loomed in the distance. He darted a look to the lieutenant who remained undisturbed. On the verge of waking the man, he hesitated as a spike of resentment flashed through him. Humans were a weaker species. He'd been told this countless times. He was perfectly capable of defending himself without assistance.

Spock's hand slipped into the pocket that stored Jim's knife. He gripped it in his small fist and watched in silence as the shadow came closer.

"Can't see shit," Kirk muttered to himself, steps faltering as he came within the hooded recess of the cave.

Spock's hand unclenched, releasing the knife like a sigh.

Squinting into the dark, Kirk groped the wall and eventually found his way to Spock's side. He flopped down without ceremony. At that moment, Carter gave a small snort and proceeded to snore, a sound Kirk likened to the rusted woodchip machine on the farm in Iowa.

Kirk decided against waking the lieutenant. He could lecture the man in the morning. "You awake Spock?" He could just make out the boy's form a couple feet away.

"Affirmative," Spock answered.

"Try to get some sleep," Kirk encouraged. "We'll be on the move in the morning."

Spock didn't reply. While his mind needed meditation, his physical body was not exhausted.

Kirk dozed. Positioned nearest the entrance, his ears strained to pick up the faintest of noises. He tuned out Carter's snores. The wind was growing stronger and colder. At one point, a well-aimed gust ruffled his hair and woke him. Grimly, he felt the sharp bite of cold against his face and hands. The air smelled like snow, a crisp light scent distinguishable from the earthen smells of damp dirt and moss.

A quiet shuffle captured Kirk's attention and drew his thoughts from their peripheral haze. He glanced at Spock. Eyes better adjusted, he could discern the boy's outline and a faint distinction of muted colors.

Another shiver wracked Spock's body. He sat away from the rock wall, attempting to preserve as much body heat as possible. The temperature continued to fall, and he felt every degree acutely. The damp air seemed to sink through the material of his ill-fitted clothing and suck the heat out of him.

"Are you cold?" Kirk asked. He considered that the boy might be crying. Crying wasn't exactly a traditional pass time for Vulcans, but given the day's events, he wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to hear the boy sobbing.

"Vulcans are accustomed to warmer climates," came the boy's terse reply.

Kirk felt a measure of relief. He wouldn't have known how to comfort a crying Vulcan. "So, you're freezing," he surmised.

Spock considered this to be an exaggeration, but as an almost violent shiver jerked through him, he was inclined to agree.

Kirk straightened. "Come here," he said, holding out an arm.

Spock didn't move.

From what Kirk knew of Vulcans, they were a prideful people. They prided themselves on their logic and self-sufficiency. Kirk also remembered what it was like to be thirteen years old and fiercely determined to prove he was a man and not a boy. "It's for your sake as much as mine," he said, a blatant lie.

"Humans are better adapted for cold climates," Spock returned, stubbornly rooted in place.

Kirk almost laughed. When Spock made statements like that, he didn't know what to think. Spock was a thirteen-year-old kid, no longer his first officer. Yet, it was still Spock. How could he reconcile the two extremes? He couldn't think of them as the same person, no more than he could consider Ambassador Spock to be the same as Commander Spock. In this situation, there was no physical separation between the two, but there were obvious physical differences. It was Kirk's intention to fix what the relic had done before he had to figure out how to deal with the thirteen-year-old.

Kirk's tired mind protested further analysis. "That doesn't mean we like the cold," he said. "I'd rather not carry around a block of ice in the morning, so come on."

"It is illogical to believe that I would become a block of ice." Spock considered elaborating on the specifics of water content within Vulcan bodies and the subzero temperatures required for solidifying it, but he suspected that Jim had spoken in non-literal terms. His mother often spoke in facetious idioms, a most illogical manner of speech.

Kirk hummed a note of agreement. "It's also illogical to sit there and freeze."

Spock did not argue. For the sake of alleviating his physical discomfort, it was only logical to sit nearer to the blond Human for body heat. Nevertheless, logic also dictated that he avoid physical contact due to the nature of his touch telepathy and weakened mental barriers.

"I won't force you, kid," Kirk conceded. He re-crossed his arms. At thirteen years old, Spock was stubborn to a fault. A small smile played across his lips as he considered that the kid was a lot like himself at that age, which was something he never would have imagined about his first officer. Closing his eyes, he was almost asleep again when he felt the press of Spock's body against his side. Not asking for permission, he unfolded an arm and encircled the boy's narrow shoulders. "Put your hood up," he mumbled quietly.

Spock felt the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks, a sight invisible in the darkness of the cave. He had not considered the practicality of covering his head. Up to fifty-five percent of all body heat could be lost through the head. The oversight was inexcusable. He raised the hood without delay and remained stiffly posed against Jim's side. Hyper aware of the dangling arm around his shoulders, he struggled to maintain composure.

Minutes passed and Spock only grew tenser and more uncomfortable. The miner amount of heat he felt along his side was little comfort.

Kirk moved abruptly. He sat up and unzipped his jacket, distantly thinking that this particular thirteen-year-old was more like Sam than himself. While Kirk had been a stubborn and defiant boy, he hadn't been quite this stubborn. His older brother had given new meanings to the term. Sam had resented everyone and everything to the point of running away at fifteen.

The rush of cold air against Kirk's torso came as a surprise. It was colder than he had expected. If the temperature continued to drop, their plans for escape could be seriously hindered. Winter weather could force them to seek shelter, allowing the rebels to zero in on them.

Hoping that the temperature had more to do with the absent sun than a cold front, Kirk decided to deal with the potential problem when it arose. He couldn't even plan an exact course when the terrain was so unpredictable. There was no point in trying to plan for the weather.

Kirk reached out and gripped Spock by the underarms.

"What are you doing?" Spock tensed and pulled away. Jim was stronger than he had estimated, able to lift him bodily.

"You're worse than Sam," Kirk muttered, settling Spock astride his legs. "Lean forward."

"I will sit next to you," Spock asserted, attempting to disengage from his inappropriate position atop the Human.

"And you'll keep shivering and waking me up." Patience fraying, Kirk pulled Spock against his chest and fumbled for the ends of his jacket.

"I must protest. I do not require further accommodation. This is highly inappropriate. I am uncomfortable with such close proximity." Spock's stream of protests bordered on rambling. There was apparent tension in his voice.

"I'm sure you are," Kirk said. Managing to catch the zipper, he began to zip his jacket up, securing Spock inside. The boy was forced to lean in closer until his jacket closed up to the mid of Spock's back. "If I smell like I've just run a marathon, it's because I have."

Refusing to show that he was disgruntled, Spock didn't comment. Vulcan males had dull olfactory senses compared to Humans. He scented only a stale salty scent from the man. It wasn't unpleasant, but he would rather not be close enough to detect it.

"The Vulcan custom that discourages casual physical contact is based on the fact that we are touch telepaths. I do not wish to sense the rampant emotions within your mind. It is unseemly."

"I'll think quiet thoughts," Kirk said, too tired to argue. With an exhausted tremor, he leaned back against the rock wall. His body was sore and stiff and begging to sleep for the next twelve hours. "We've got another four hours, give or take," he said. "Try to sleep."

There were very few stray thoughts in Kirk's head. His predominant emotions were subdued dread and weary hope, neither of which he believed the boy capable of sensing. He likened touch telepathy to the mind meld performed by Ambassador Spock. Vulcans were all about control. They would be able to control their telepathy, blocking unwanted transference.

Spock's next protest fell away when Jim's eyes closed. He watched at an uncomfortably close proximity as long lashes shuttered over the faint glint of blue eyes. This brash Human was highhanded and rude, but clearly exhausted and perhaps in need of additional warmth.

Minutes passed before Spock allowed himself to relax against Jim's chest. He couldn't possibly sleep, not when his mind was occupied with so many questions and the physical demands of his body did not require repose. Nevertheless, he settled down quietly and feigned the act of sleep to appease the insistent Human.

The steady rhythm of Jim's heartbeat and slow breaths had a hypnotic effect on Spock. Even as he remained uncomfortably aware of the physical connection, he welcomed the wealth of heat. He closed his eyes, not knowing when he fell asleep, only that he was surprised to have Jim shaking him awake hours later.

ooo

The next day followed the same exhaustive routine. Kirk tempered his pace when Carter lagged behind. They walked after finishing the remainder of their rations for lunch. The rations wouldn't have lasted regardless of how carefully they stretched them. Kirk had already noted a number of likely food sources, none of which he was keen on eating, but he couldn't argue with necessity.

There had been no sign of the rebel party all day. While Carter gave a whoop at the victory, Kirk contemplated the possibility that the rebels had the area surrounded and were simply waiting for them to pass through to the other side.

They made camp in the decaying hollow of a fallen tree. A fire was out of the question, even though the temperature continued to drop.

Learning his lesson from the night before, Kirk left as soon as the sun was low in the sky. He killed two birds with one stone, by setting false tracks while he gathered anything that looked edible. He returned to find Carter collapsed inside the tree's trunk and Spock appearing not to have moved an inch.

When Kirk called Carter, his voice was clipper than he meant it to be. Carter shot up and scrambled out, having the shame to at least appear sheepish.

Kirk held out a set of stringy plant roots that grew around most of the trees' bases. "I already tested these," he said.

Spock inclined a brow, which was as close to scandalized as he generally appeared. "Ingesting unknown vegetation while isolated from any aide that Lieutenant Carter or myself could provide was most unwise."

Nodding in agreement, Kirk said, "You're right, which is why you should never do it. But I decided to risk it before I passed out."

"Are you okay, Captain?" Carter asked. He prodded the strange purple plant that the captain had given him. The stringy veins were like miniature tentacles attached to a knobby bulb head.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thirsty." Kirk set the bundle of vegetation between the three of them. "You can't really eat the roots, but they've got a lot of water in them. Just suck on them." The knob at the top was like a water pouch, where the plant stored moisture drained from the ground.

When Spock made no move to retrieve a water plant for himself, Kirk tossed one to him. "Even Vulcans have to drink," he said.

Spock examined the plant at great length. "Fascinating," he said, observing how the roots actually responded to his touch.

"That's disgusting," Carter stated, eyes riveted on the millimeter thin root that had wrapped around the young Vulcan's finger.

Kirk was about to tell Spock to stop playing with his food, but the boy's thirst overcame his curiosity. Spock promptly mimicked Kirk's methods of sucking on the root lengths.

There was a bitter taste to the plant, but water was too precious to waste.

Kirk sorted through the rest of his findings and divided it into three equal portions. Their dinner consisted of tubular potatoes that were a dark plum color and probably didn't taste anything like potatoes, a leafy brown moss, and mushrooms shaped like small clover flowers. There were obvious risks involved, but he'd spotted a squirrel-like creature eating the mushrooms and there were signs that other animals had scavenged the moss and dug up the potatoes.

Taking initiative, Kirk popped a mushroom into his mouth. He grimaced, but valiantly chewed and swallowed. "I give it two stars," he said.

Carter followed the captain's lead, but struggled with his gag reflex. "You sure this is edible?" He'd passed his survival training like the rest of the crew, but he wouldn't have touched what the captain had collected unless he'd been on the verge of starvation.

With a grin, Kirk said, "No, so don't eat anything else for the next ten minutes." He offered a mushroom to Spock. "Examine it all you want, but don't eat it yet.

Ten minutes passed without incident. They finished off their portions of the mushrooms. He was rushing the testing sequence involved in determining if items were poisonous, but he had a hunch they were all edible. He could only hope he wasn't allergic to any of it, which was a higher probability than he was comfortable with.

Spock eyed a mushroom cap warily. Vulcans cultivated an appreciation for food as a biological imperative. Vulcans did not eat in excess, nor did they deny their bodies necessary consumption based on a food's appeal, or lack thereof. Regardless, Spock found the plant wholly unappetizing. It would be rude to refuse the offering, but his mouth dried at the prospect of tasting the spongy fungus. "Vulcans are capable of extended periods without sustenance."

"If things get desperate, I'll keep that in mind," Kirk said.

Carter laughed. "Desperate, Captain? What exactly do you call this?" He made a gesture to the rotted tree behind them, their shelter for the night.

Kirk clapped Carter's shoulder. "This is just a mild inconvenience." He regarded Spock again. "We'll give it an hour. If Carter and I aren't dead, you'll eat." His tone was blithe, but his humor failed at lightening Spock's mood. Some things never changed.

Spock's lips formed a tighter line. He was not accustomed to having such concern expressed on his behalf. He nodded his acceptance, suspecting that Jim's intensely blue eyes would remain upon him until he agreed. However, even after he gave his agreement, Jim continued to stare. "You are staring," he stated.

Kirk grinned.

A faint furrow between Spock's brows indicated his confusion. Despite the dire circumstances, the Human smiled. Perhaps it was a nervous reflex.

"It's weird seeing you like this," Kirk said. He felt like was seeing a side to his first officer that was somehow secret.

"To what are you referring?"

"Seeing you so young. It's not something I could have pictured." If Kirk were less concerned for his first officer's well being, he might have found the sight of Spock as a child amusing.

Spock cast a look between both Humans before speaking. "Would the present time be acceptable to request an explanation regarding my presence on this planet and in your company?"

Kirk frowned, puzzling over the polite request. "Now's as good a time as any."

"It seemed inappropriate to make such a request while… on the run," Spock said, his tone inflecting with question. He was uncertain if he had used the Human colloquialism properly.

Kirk bowed his head and ran a hand through his hair. The damp strands stood on end. He didn't know whether to chasten Spock or himself. Even if their priority was evading the rebels, that didn't mean their host of other troubles could be ignored. He had fallen prey to tunnel vision, becoming too focused on the task at hand. However, Spock could have piped in and reminded him that an explanation was overdue.

Dismissing the matter as a failure to communicate, Kirk raised his head and regarded Spock levelly. "You don't have to wait to ask a question."

Spock nodded, accepting this new directive as though it had never occurred to him to inconvenience either of the Humans.

"The truth is, I don't really know what happened to you," Kirk said. "We came here on a diplomatic mission. We did our job and were about to leave, but communications were jammed, so we couldn't contact the ship for transport."

Spock listened intently, filing each fact away and forming new questions to ask when Jim finished speaking.

"There was an attack, an insurrection, against the government we were in negotiations with. The rebel faction wanted us as hostages, for leverage against the Federation."

Kirk glossed over the gritty details, simply relating that they had been taken prisoner. "The Brotherhood also wanted something called the Holy Relic. It's a glorified stick, but it managed to turn you into a kid."

"Lieutenant Carter previously alluded that I had somehow regressed physically and mentally. Given the improbability of such a feat, I remain dubious."

Kirk laughed, releasing his tension. "I saw it happen and I still don't believe it."

Spock could detect no dishonesty in the man's expressive countenance and steady voice patterns. "I admit to having no alternative explanation for my presence among you. I can deduce no plausible motive for an abduction." He glanced away, lost in thought. After several long moments, he queried, "You are captain of a Federation vessel? The USS Enterprise?"

Kirk beamed proudly. "She's a beauty. Constellation class."

Head cocking fractionally to the side, Spock said, "You would be remarkably young for such a position. I profess that I am doubtful of such a fact."

Laughing again, Kirk's eyes brightened with true amusement.

"You are amused," Spock observed with confusion.

Still smiling, Kirk agreed with the boy's blunt observation. "I am young for a captain."

"Youngest captain in the history of Starfleet," Carter added.

Kirk didn't encourage further discussion of his captaincy. He knew Spock as the stringent science officer who cited regulations like a priest cited Bible passages. The Spock he knew was older and had seen the world through an adult's eyes. Commander Spock had witnessed death, destruction, and experienced deep loss. The story of Kirk's captaincy paralleled Spock's most tragic experiences.

However, Kirk did not see his first officer in the young Vulcan boy before him. He saw a child, still innocent and untouched by the void of space.

Kirk made an executive decision not to tell Spock more than absolutely necessary. Why burden a child with news of a dead mother and lost home world? It was not Kirk's intention to leave Spock as a child. Once they were safely aboard the Enterprise, reversing the effects of the relic would become his first priority.

Carter seemed to sense the captain's sobering line of thought. He excused himself to settle in for the night.

Spock asked his questions, seeking specifics on Thelosian culture, the Brotherhood, the political unrest, and everything he could think to ask that might illuminate his own situation. An hour passed quickly, too quickly as he was soon instructed to eat the questionable vegetation.

Spock ate without complaint, grateful that his sense of taste was duller than a Human's.

When night fell, Spock began to wonder if Jim would once again insist on sleeping together. He watched intently as Jim settled in. The hollowed trunk offered less space than the cave. He was reluctant to join the Humans. The sound of Carter's snores agitated his sensitive hearing.

Kirk glanced at the lieutenant and then at Spock, and gave a shrug as though able to read the boy's thoughts. He held out a hand expectantly. Spock bowed his head and approached with an air of reluctant obedience.

Unable to sleep, Spock took an interest in monitoring Jim's movements. When the man's breathing slowed, his head nodded forward, chin pressing against the top of Spock's hooded head. The longest Jim remained asleep was thirty-eight minutes, at which point his body tensed and his head lifted.

The jacket zipper that secured Spock against Jim's chest had slowly come undone. He felt the cold against his shoulders and back. His feet were numb. As subtly as he could, he hunched deeper inside Jim's jacket. The contrast between hot and cold was unpleasant. Against his back, Spock felt an icy breeze. In front, Jim's warmth taunted him to burrow deeper.

When Kirk nodded awake once again, he felt Spock shifting about. He made a quiet noise to let the boy know he was awake.

Spock went still, ceasing his attempts to maneuver the jacket's zipper back up. His mobility was quite limited.

Kirk's hands fumbled with a distant understanding of what the boy wanted. He zipped his jacket up as high as it could go. By accident, his bare hand grazed a bandaged foot. His fingers were stiff with cold, but he could still feel how much colder Spock's feet were by comparison. The bandages felt damp, which was unsurprising given the moistness of the soil and dank wood.

"Nobody likes a martyr," Kirk whispered. The haze of sleep lifted long enough for him to figure out how to warm the kid's feet.

"This is unnecessary," Spock said, though he allowed Jim to reposition his legs.

Awkwardly readjusting Spock in his lap, Kirk wedged the bandaged feet between his knees. "Are you gonna be okay?" he asked quietly. It was getting colder. Children, whether they were Vulcan or Human, seemed like fragile creatures. His own memories of being thirteen involved jumping from haylofts and testing the laws of gravity at every opportunity. Kids were resilient, but most kids didn't wake up on a strange planet with a band of rebels hunting them.

Kirk couldn't tell if Spock was okay or not. Did the boy need more food? Did he need more warmth? How long could a child last under such stressful conditions? He felt guilty for not knowing, for not being able to do better. He couldn't triangulate the jamming signal, nor could he Jerry-rig a stronger signal that would reach the Enterprise. He could only keep running for as long as his legs could carry him. That was all he could do and he was beginning to doubt if it was enough.

Spock considered Jim's question, sensing a strange weight to it. "While the cold climate poses acute discomfort, Vulcans are more resilient than Humans. As I have already stated, I do not require sleep or nourishment with the same frequency as a Human."

Spock stiffened when Jim began to laugh. He felt the gentle vibration in the man's chest accompanied by a breathy chuckle.

"I'm just projecting my Human weaknesses, then?" Kirk murmured, only half-joking.

"Perhaps," Spock agreed. After a long pause, he said, "I appreciate your efforts."

"Thanks, kid," Kirk said in a quiet voice.

Not knowing the customary reply, Spock didn't give one. Minutes passed and Jim's breathing began to slow. He listened to the soft sound, wondering why the lieutenant could not breath as quietly as Jim.

TBC…

Author's note: Thank you all for the awesome reviews! And thanks to everyone who offered to beta. Currently, this chapter isn't beta read, but it will be. I'm just too impatient to hold off posting, so sorry for any errors.

I live on feedback, so please tell me what you think, what you like or didn't like, anything at all.

Reading through it, I realized that Spock might have seemed overly harsh in his opinion of Humans. I decided that this works well for how I imagine him. He's taken shit all his life about being part Human. Obviously, he loves his mother and doesn't consider her a disadvantage, but even when TOS Spock was in his 30s, he struggled to accept his Human side. I figure Spock, at least as a kid, has some misplaced and illogical resentment towards Humans, since it's because he's part Human that he has to deal with bullies and insults about his mom. It's not something I'll be exploring, I just like rambling.

Please review! Somewhere, a fairy dies if you don't review after you've read a story. True facts, a leprechaun told me.


	4. Chapter 4

Beta read by the awesome **sexy-jess **

Imprint 

Chapter Four

Heavy grey clouds masked the dawn sky. It had begun to snow. Throughout the morning the wet flakes melted as soon as they touched the ground, but by the afternoon they began to stick.

Spock no longer kept precious inches of space between himself and Jim. He lay flush against the young captain's back, drawing warmth and a greater sense of stability. There wasn't a blare of unwanted thoughts and emotions that he had anticipated. Though his hands stayed tucked away in the excess length of his coat's sleeves, he observed that Jim was a Human with great mental focus. He suspected that touching the surface of the man's mind would transmit only muted emotions buried beneath tactical thinking. The manner in which sharp blue eyes constantly studied their surroundings suggested that Jim remained in a perpetual state of guarded awareness. It was almost Vulcan.

Finding his unconditional dependence upon Jim unacceptable, Spock compensated by lending his expertise at every available opportunity. His accurate sense of direction allowed him to correct Jim's trajectory.

When Jim said, "Keep talking. It helps me forget that I'm running on fumes," Spock began to give a running narration of hypotheses and probabilities. Excessive chatter was discouraged among his peers, but Jim seemed to appreciate it. He vocalized calculations and explained each situational variable he considered relevant to his computations.

Though Jim rarely offered a comment in response, Spock could tell the man was listening. He had never held someone's rapt attention for such an extended period of time.

In school, when he wasn't in the learning pods, his instructors acknowledged his answers with a briskness that they did not demonstrate towards the other students. Over the years, he had surmised that his instructors expected less of him because he was part Human. His records and aptitude scores were high even for a Vulcan, but his instructors seemed keen on dismissing his achievements, as if to ignore the fact that a half-Human were more intelligent than most full-Vulcans.

Once, he'd expressed his concerns to his mother, who had betrayed his confidence by informing his father. His father had told him that he was being overly emotional and sensitive. His mother had wished to champion against discrimination, but she did not understand the difficult position doing so would place him in. He learned to suppress his emotional response as his father had advised. When he spoke of school and his daily activities to his mother, he withheld encounters and experiences to spare her.

Regardless of who listened to him on Vulcan, Jim absorbed his every word. He became lost in his own musings, explaining the intricacies of what fascinated him most about anything and everything.

After expounding on a journal article published by the Vulcan Science Academy on rejuvenation and the physical effects of gamma radiation exposure, Spock glanced behind to check on the lieutenant. Jim had assigned him the task of _keeping tabs_ on the man.

"Lieutenant Carter appears to be in need of rest," Spock said.

Behind Kirk and Spock, Carter stumbled and nearly fell. His form sagged even after he caught his footing.

Kirk glanced skyward, squinting against the falling snowflakes. His breath puffed in misty white clouds every time he exhaled. He pinpointed the reddish orb low in the west. It was time to look for a secure spot to rest. This was their third day on Thelos, and he anticipated reaching the river by mid-afternoon the next day.

There had been no sign of the rebels. Kirk still didn't know if this was a good or bad indication. He might be running headlong into a trap. Communications remained blocked.

Carter had done away with all ceremony. He dropped to sit against the nearest tree, gasping and clutching the side of his stomach. "Captain, I can't keep up like this."

"We're less than a day away," Kirk reasoned. "You can do this."

"I can't," Carter declared, coughing violently. His stomach twisted, threatening to turn itself inside out.

Kneeling before his lieutenant, Kirk set a firm hand on the man's shoulder. "You have to."

Carter met the captain's gaze. Those blue eyes burned with frightening resolve. It was infectious. He gave a weary nod.

After letting Spock down, Kirk arched his back. His spine gave a series of pops that did nothing to alleviate the stiffness of sore muscles.

Kirk reviewed the map and conferred with Spock on the distance they had covered. The boy had a gift for calculations and was able to accurately estimate their location. Kirk could maintain a general sense of how far they'd gone, but the constant turnabouts and backtracking made it difficult to separate right from left.

"We'll walk for an hour." Looking to Spock, Kirk asked, "Will you be okay on your feet?" Previously, he'd let the boy walk for short intervals, no more than ten or fifteen minutes. His back was ready to break and needed more than fifteen minutes of reprieve.

The bindings on Spock's feet were already soaked. Placid expression hiding his discomfort, he said, "Yes."

A grim smile tugged at Kirk's chapped lips. "At least walking will help keep you warm." Dark blond hair was slick with melted snowflakes and sweat. His habit of raking his fingers through the strands left them spiked at odd angles. Between torn clothing, patches of crusted blood on his head and arm and too many scrapes and bruises to count, Kirk looked liked death warmed over.

"Indeed," Spock agreed. He suppressed the urge to grimace at the unpleasant sensation of his feet sinking into the cold, slushy earth. When Jim began walking, he silently moved to the man's side.

The day progressed with intermittent showers of icy rain and snow. The sky remained a bland grey even as dusk approached.

Kirk was searching for a shelter when he caught a sharp scent in the air. It was faint, easily overwhelmed by sodden earth and pine. He stopped and held a hand up, signaling Spock and Carter. Carter knocked against Spock, apparently not seeing the signal. Kirk crouched and gestured for the other two to follow.

Carter wedged between Spock and the captain. "What is it?"

Kirk inhaled sharply. "Can you smell it?" he asked, looking to Carter for confirmation. It was almost like hickory or charcoal.

Carter looked confused, but tilted his head back and smelled the air with exaggerated sniffs. "Smoke?" he questioned.

"Stay here," Kirk instructed. He gave Spock a knowing look and added, "Stay with Carter."

A protest rose to Spock's lips, but he had no logical reason to argue. He lowered his head in compliance and glanced with barely concealed resignation at the lieutenant.

With Jim gone, the forest became a menacing presence. Even the silence seemed threatening. The distant snap of twigs and chirp of high-perched creatures echoed despite the damp atmosphere.

Seated on one of many strewn rocks, Spock kept a vigilant watch in the direction Jim had gone. Arms wrapped around his drawn up knees, he counted the minutes as they passed.

"Hey, do you have any of those octopus plants left?"

Spock shook his head. The lieutenant had been present when Jim insisted he finish drinking, despite his perfectly logical argument on Vulcan physiology and his ability to retain water.

Carter scoffed with open hostility. He kicked at the ground and paced away. He'd been busting his ass to please the captain. There hadn't been any sign of the rebels since the first day. The only reason Captain Kirk wanted to hurry was because of Spock. The kid talked about Vulcan superiority, but didn't seem so superior while getting a free ride. Meanwhile, he could barely swallow because his mouth was so dry. He let out a frustrated sigh. This was supposed to have been a diplomatic mission. He'd been on the job two weeks. He wasn't trained for this.

Spock watched the lieutenant pace. For a man who repeatedly claimed to be incapable of taking another step, his current expenditure of energy was illogical.

Approximately seventeen minutes and thirty-seven seconds passed before the soft tread of Jim's footfall drew Spock's attention. Jim came into view, his hood drawn and dark figure practically indiscernible from the shadows. When bright blue eyes landed on Spock, Jim leveled him with a stunningly bright smile and pushed his hood back.

Kirk stepped away from the shadows and into plain view. The kid had already spotted him. Spock had sharper eyes than he'd suspected. Letting his steps fall heavy, he alerted the lieutenant to his presence. The young man whipped around in surprise, hand moving to a draw a phaser that wasn't there.

With a chuckle, Kirk held his hands up in mock surrender. The lieutenant laughed nervously in return. He motioned the man over and crouched beside the rock Spock sat on. "It's a village," he said, not bothering to hide his eagerness. He turned to Carter and added, "It's guarded."

Spock unfolded his legs and sat straight. Jim had intentionally included him in this discussion. He assumed a passive expression and quelled his concern that Jim had been near enough to armed guards to have seen them.

"How many?" Carter asked.

"Six patrolling the parameter. Probably more inside the village. It's not an outpost though." A village full of civilians meant potential allies. Information was the best weapon he could hope for. The odds of a successful infiltration were marginal, but he couldn't keep running through the woods like this.

"Do we wait 'til dark?"

Kirk shook his head. "The dark has as many disadvantages as it does advantages."

Spock studied Jim's pensive expression. "A curious statement," he said. "Please clarify?"

A lopsided grin graced Kirk's face. Spock's previously reticent behavior had disappeared the moment he told the boy to voice whatever questions or concerns came to mind. On the Enterprise, he was lucky if Commander Spock spoke two sentences to him while they were off duty. After a solid hour of nonstop talking, this younger version of his commander was downright chatty. It amused him to no end. He wished he had thought to set the tricorder to record every word.

Clearing his throat, Kirk explained, "There's no traffic at night. If I don't want to stick out like a sore thumb, I'll need to do this during the day and there's not much of that left."

"How do we get past the guards?"

Kirk's eyes sharpened. "_We_ don't. I want you two to hunker down here and wait."

"Captain, you can't expect me to wait around while you take on the enemy alone."

"I don't expect anything, Lieutenant. I order it. With any luck, no one will notice I'm there." If Kirk had his way, he wouldn't be taking on the enemy. A fight was the last thing he needed with a single phaser that had a quarter charge left.

Spock quickly erased his look of wide-eyed shock. "Jim, on this occasion I must agree with Lieutenant Carter. The risk involved in such an attempt is too great." He had the irrational urge to reach out and take hold of the man's arm. His fingers twitched in response, but he held back.

"As always, _Commander _Spock," Kirk said with a teasing edge, "your concerns are noted."

Green pinpricks of color rose to Spock's cheeks. He lowered his gaze, equal parts embarrassed and ashamed that his concern had been apparent.

"I've had a lot of experience sneaking in and out of places I shouldn't be. Trust me." Kirk gave a playful wink. "Compared to campus security, this'll be a walk in the park."

Flabbergasted by the captain's easy confidence, Carter's protests fell apart. "Captain, at the very least I should go with you."

Shaking his head, Kirk admonished, "Spock might be smarter than both of us put together, but he's still a kid. Stay with him."

Head snapping up, Spock glanced between the two men. A warm hand settled on his shoulder.

"You're in good hands with Carter," Kirk said.

Spock didn't want Jim's assurances. The captain was handing command over to the lieutenant and leaving. The statistical likelihood of Jim's safe return was too low to hold any expectations. In that moment, cold anger flashed through him. He stood and shirked Jim's hand off. "Very well," he said.

Kirk winced at the strangely void monotone of Spock's words. There was no pleasing everybody.

After shedding his jacket, Kirk peeled his gold command shirt off his sweat dampened body. The form fitting black undershirt was a thin barrier against the cold. He quickly slipped back into his jacket. Setting the discarded shirt on the rock that Spock had used as a seat, he caught the Vulcan boy's eye. "You still have my knife. You can cut this shirt up for your feet."

Believing that Jim was attempting to mollify him, Spock bristled indignantly. "I do not require this empty gesture of consolation. Whether you return or not is of little consequence."

Kirk ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "Use it or don't, but I can't wear it. I'd have an easier time with a bull's eye painted on my back than if anyone caught sight of that shirt."

As understanding dawned on Spock, he felt rebuked. His emotions were clouding his judgment. He was sorely in need of meditation.

"Good luck," Carter said.

Wishing to apologize and admit his error, Spock turned around, but Jim had already left. He caught a final glimpse of dark blue disappearing into the fold of trees.

In Jim's absence, silence descended again. The wait began.

ooo

With the village in his sight, Kirk crept as close as he dared, keeping within the tree line. The closest structure was a wooden shed. A metal pipe atop the roof vented smoke. Two guards disappeared inside, while one exited to take their place.

A broad dirt road led through the center of the village. A number of houses were little more than shanty sheds dotting the outskirts, but the majority were cobbled stone.

Robed civilians in thick leggings milled near the main entrance, but few came and went along the road. Each pass that the guards made with their shouldered rifles earned rueful glares from the villagers.

Lying in wait, Kirk absorbed every detail and movement. He searched for a pattern in the guards' route, but they were dangerously unpredictable. One or two of them would circle around the village perimeter, which was a solid ten-minute walk. Other times, the guards would simply return after pacing near the main entrance for a little while. The rebels were lazy and disorganized, and unpredictable as a result. He suspected that one or two of the guards were better trained than the rest. Like the group of reinforcements that had shown up from the main encampment.

If Kirk tilted his head at the right angle, he could hear the unmistakable thunder rush of water. Becoming too absorbed in the sound of his destination so close at hand, his guard faltered. The hairs on the back of his neck rose like the hackles on a dog. A twig snapped behind him. He whipped around and met the pointed end of a spear.

A split second before Kirk was prepared to lunge to the side, the man holding the spear lowered it. Kirk jerked back a step, ever careful to keep out of sight from the village guards.

A Thelosian garbed in a heavy brown cloak regarded Kirk with wonderment.

Kirk returned the sentiment, though his expression remained untelling. There was something familiar about this spear-wielding alien. A garishly wide smile split the man's face, emphasizing the inhuman characteristics.

A memory danced on the edge of Kirk's mind. "Are you with the Brotherhood?" he asked. When the Thelosian's eyes dropped to read his lips, he remembered. At the base of the temple's stairs, the man who'd approached him for direction. It had been a brief encounter, only a matter of seconds, but he must have made a good impression because the Thelosian held a hand out to him.

Returning the man's smile, Kirk clasped the outstretched hand and hooked their thumbs together by way of Thelosian greeting.

Once Kirk had the universal translator between them, he learned that the Thelosian's name was Jyro, or at least the Standard equivalent. He had two sons, one who'd been injured in the attack on Belmar. Jyro started to talk about his wife, and Kirk suspected the man would ramble until he gave a complete medical history. Kirk redirected Jyro's verbose inclinations with a few tactful questions.

Prompted by Kirk, Jyro explained that all villages were under watch, but the guards demonstrated no open hostility. The violence of the initial attack had not been repeated. The Brotherhood had herded Thelosians from the main city to outlying villages, wherever they had family or relations.

Jyro had slipped away rather easily from the village. The guards were surprisingly lax in their duty, especially as the weather became colder and they preferred the heated confines of the shed. He'd heard nothing about blocked communications, nor had he seen the guards using unfamiliar devices. Rumor had it that the Brotherhood's numbers were concentrated beyond the ridge of the valley.

Licking chapped lips, Kirk forced down his excitement at this news. If the rebels hadn't moved south of Belmar, then there was a safe direction to head. The river was close, only half a kilometer east and Belmar wasn't much father than that.

Kirk was ready to give his thanks and slip away. He wouldn't need to risk going into the village to gather information. It was his first stroke of luck since beaming down to Thelos.

"Kirk leader wanting food and more clothes," the translator said in its robotic voice after Jyro spoke.

Preferring to return as soon as possible, Kirk was about to turn Jyro's offer down, but it occurred to him that Spock would need more than bandages on his feet. "Can you get me a pair of children's shoes?" He waited for the translator to relay his request and demonstrated the size he was looking for with his hands.

Confusion registered on Jyro's face, so Kirk lifted his leg and tapped his boot. Then he signed the small size he wanted.

"Little shoes, you want?" Jyro asked, his eyebrows drawn so low that the recess of his prominent brow shadowed his eyes.

With a wry smile, Kirk said, "Yes. Little shoes for little Vulcan feet." He laughed quietly at the reminder that his stalwart commander was now a child. He'd known Spock for little more than a month and already he felt stunted without the Vulcan's support. All the more reason to fix what had happened. Though even a thirteen-year-old version of his first officer acted as efficiently as any decorated soldier.

Jyro's look of confusion turned to worry. "You have child?"

Weighing his answer carefully, Kirk said, "From my ship. The shaman's relic changed him. Do you know anything about that?"

Jyro appeared mystified. "Child spirit," he said gravely and bowed his head.

The temptation to press Jyro about the relic and its effects was nearly overpowering. However, Kirk prioritized his crew's safety over scientific inquiry. He couldn't even hope to fix Spock until they were safely aboard the Enterprise.

Jyro left Kirk with the promise to return as quickly as possible. Kirk hated waiting.

ooo

Spock settled against the trunk of a tree, knees drawn tight to his chest. Meditation proved more elusive than ever. He stared fixedly at the crumpled command shirt. The shirt remained where Jim had set it, untouched by either himself or the lieutenant.

The gentle warmth of his mother's presence was gone. He could not tap into the familial bond. Either by distance or his current undisciplined mind, it was as though the bond no longer existed. Physical isolation had never before entailed mental solitude. On Vulcan, silences could always be filled by calling forth the hum of telepathic bonds. At home, he always had a sense of his mother and father. Even when his father was off planet, there was at least a vague impression of the man.

Spock understood that he was too far away to sense anything familiar, but that didn't stop him from seeking the bonds. He huddled deeper into his jacket. With Jim gone, his isolation felt more absolute.

Convinced that he acted out of necessity, Spock unfurled and snatched Jim's shirt. Not bothering with the knife, he employed strength to tear lengths away. He felt the disapproving eye of the lieutenant as he unwrapped the sodden strips from his feet and used the dry material to rewrap them.

When Spock finished his task, he felt a twinge of disappointment that he had nothing else to do. No tasks to occupy his mind or hands, nothing to distract from the uncertainty and unnatural silence in his head.

The lieutenant whirled around abruptly and came to a halt in front of Spock. "I'm going after him. The captain could be in trouble."

Spock kept his eyes riveted on the torn fragments of the golden shirt that bound his feet. "Jim expressly ordered us to remain here and await his return."

"Screw that!" Carter cut the air with his hand. "He only said that because of you. You go on about Vulcan superiority, but you're useless. Do me a favor and stay put while I go after Captain Kirk."

Spock did not flinch from Carter's statement. He agreed with the man. His presence had been a great hindrance to both Starfleet officers. "Indeed, I will remain here."

Tone laced with sarcasm, Carter said, "Good for something then, _Commander_." He grimaced at his own pettiness. "Christ, that's not what I meant." The small Vulcan didn't react. "Just stay here, out of sight. You _were_ first officer, but I can't treat you like a commanding officer when you're four feet tall."

"I have previously stated that I am not a Starfleet commander. It would be illogical to treat me as such."

"Exactly, so stay put."

At the repeated order, Spock's brow twitched. "I have already confirmed my intention to follow Jim's orders. Your repeated directives are unnecessary."

Carter rolled his eyes and set off after the captain.

Spock did not expect either man to return. Accustomed to all manner of subtle and overt intimations that his presence was unwanted, he understood that the lieutenant considered him a liability. A number of his schoolfellows stated that his very existence was a disgrace and abomination. Like his birth, he had no control over his placement on Thelos. He had awoken where he did not belong. His presence lowered Jim and the lieutenant's chances of survival. Jim moved slower while carrying him and spent extra time collecting a third share of food.

Suddenly, Spock felt foolish for his behavior that afternoon. Instead of drawing on Vulcan disciplines to shore up his mind and body, he had sought comfort from Jim. He had concentrated on the physical feel of the man, creating a false sense of safety. He had reveled in having an audience, like a Human infant clamoring for attention. Peace of mind came from within oneself, not without.

He would spend the night waiting, simply to exhaust whatever small chance there was of either man returning. By first light, he would set off on his own.

Faced with the unknown and more alone than ever, Spock struggled to control his anxiety. He began a mental recitation of Surak's founding principles.

ooo

It was dark by the time Jyro returned. He appeared panting, his eyes gleaming with alarm. He shoved a cloth sack into Kirk's arms and began speaking with rushed urgency.

The smack Kirk gave to the translator did nothing to make it work faster, but it made him feel better. He told Jyro to slow down, but the man's alarm only became greater.

Jyro indicated his meaning with wide gestures while the translator computed.

Finally, the translator spit out, "Brotherhood find Federation man like you. Man run from them. Brotherhood follows back by way you came." The translator continued relaying Jyro's words, but Kirk had stopped listening. He set off at a sprint, heedless of keeping cover.

ooo

An inhuman screech cut through the forest. Spock's eyes shot open, his meditative recitation left unfinished. Ears alert, he heard tromping feet and the sound of bracken and branches snapping. The noise drew closer.

Night had fallen, laying down a shroud of cool shadows. An ambient light reflected in the heavy cloud cover made the landscape more distinct than in past nights. Snowfall accumulated in patches, wherever the trees thinned out. A solid two inches has already collected.

The forest appeared still, almost frozen, but panicked cries filled the air. It was Lieutenant Carter. The man was close enough that Spock heard his hoarse gasps and stumbling feet. A sharp tingle of fear radiated towards Spock. He could feel it in his mind. The heightened emotion of raw terror shattered past his weakened mental defenses.

Spock stood from his spot at the base of a tree, prepared to move towards the man, even as his instincts urged him to move away. The cold had numbed his feet.

The hammering burst of gunfire made him jump and retreat back against the base of the tree. Kneeling, he glanced around for better cover, but he didn't dare move.

As a dark form entered the narrow clearing of trees, Spock had the irrational hope that it was Jim. Despite his conclusion that Jim had fallen victim, or the remoter chance that Jim had simply abandoned him, his desire for the starship captain's return kept him from accepting what he saw. Even as he took in the form that was too tall and wide to be Jim, he recalled past instances when Jim had appeared quite suddenly from behind trees and boulders after gathering food. But this was not Jim and his hope crumbled as the figure turned in his direction.

The figure loped closer. Spock started to stand again, his pulse racing and movements strangely clumsy. Following a series of angry words, the figure opened fire at the ground in front of him. This time the sound did more than startle Spock. Logic fled, leaving him open to baser instincts. He fell to the ground and clutched his head.

At the raucous sound that was unmistakably laughter, shame washed over him. He had not trained tirelessly as a student of logic or in the art of Suus Mahnaso that he might cower on the ground. Hands dropping from his ears, he began to stand once more.

Laughter gave way to angry shouting. Spock darted a sharp look to the excitable alien. He spared a moment to study the strange weapon. Its size appeared to account for its loudness. He finally met the gaze of his assailant. The rebels had hunted him for the past two days, yet they had been a faceless enemy.

Narrow eyes glistened in the darkness. The rebel's visage was distorted by shadow. A prominent nose and a sloping forehead cast angular features in sharp relief. The alien had an elongated torso of considerable girth, but squat legs. Spock wondered if he might outrun his Thelosian opponent.

Grasping at the only thing that would not fail him, even in a situation where his death seemed imminent, he calculated the probability of a successful escape. The independent variable that faulted his equation was whether this rebel intended to kill him or capture him. Erring on the side of caution, he assumed that any sudden movement from himself would trigger the rebel to open fire on him. Previous gunfire had been an intimidation tactic. He saw that now, though he might have known before and still succumbed to the adrenaline inducing effects of fear. Indeed, he was still quite afraid.

Regardless of his emotional upheaval, the math stayed the same. There was a 10.59 percent chance of evading immediate capture by ducking behind the nearest tree. That chance increased to 26.00 percent if the rebel wanted to capture him alive. The odds of his escape after reaching the trees was despairingly low, at best a 2.70 percent chance.

If he remained, Spock would be killed or taken captive. Logic pointed out that he would face the same end if he chose to run. There was no logical conclusion in which he could hope escape.

Seconds ticked by and Spock could not twist the numbers into a better solution. His calculations fell apart when his hand knocked against the object in his right pocket. He was unaware that he'd made the move for the knife. His fingers curled around the weapon, drawing on it for strength.

The rebel eyed Spock warily, but seemed to conclude he was no threat. His gun remained pointed towards the ground, held in a lax grip.

Spock would stand and fight. He was Vulcan, immune to fear and panic. He forced his hand to steady as he withdrew the small knife, but he nearly jumped in surprise when he managed to find the trigger and the blade shot out from its end.

The rebel laughed again, louder this time. A wide mouth extended into a gaping maw that seemed to sever the man's face. The sight of the man laughing was as unpleasant as the sound.

Heart thudding against his side, Spock prepared to lash out when the rebel reached for him.

The rebel was a step away when a guttural cry rent through the air. Spock's whole body seized as he jerked his head to the left. Eyes widening, he watched as Jim launched from the shadows and tackled the rebel away from him.

Limbs tangled, the two bodies rolled across the small clearing between trees. Spock found that he couldn't move. He watched with mounting horror, all the while unable to command his limbs.

Adept at all forms of tumbling, chiefly across soft mattresses, Kirk managed to come out on top. The gun sailed from the rebel's grasp and clattered somewhere off to his right. He wasted no time before unleashing a series of fracturing hits to his opponent's face. The rebel delivered a hard jab to his kidney that doubled him over.

The two grappled, wrestling as they struggled to find enough purchase to land a blow. Kirk disengaged and staggered to his feet. He drove his knee into the rebel's side, but a painfully strong grip caught his leg and upended him. Landing with a grunt, his vision darkened for a moment. He kicked out instinctively, pushing the rebel off before the man could pin him down.

As he scrambled to his feet, he searched for something, anything to use as a weapon. His eyes sought the gun, but his hand found a rock. The rebel came up behind him. He swung around and brought the rock down with a sickening crack against the rebel's temple. The man keeled over, stunned but not quite unconscious. Kirk straddled him, raising the rock to finish the job.

A sharp gasp from the other side of the clearing caught his attention. Posed with his arms upraised, ready to bring the deathblow, he locked eyes with the kid. Small, pale and helpless, Spock's wide brown eyes gazed at him without recognition.

Chest heaving, Kirk slowly lowered his arms and tossed the rock aside. The rebel peered at him through narrowed eyelids, one eye streaked with blood. Nostrils flaring, Kirk struck with a well-aimed fist, effectively knocking his opponent out. Clambering off the lame form, he staggered over towards Spock. When the kid backed away from him, he stopped.

"Stay here," Kirk said, his voice cracked and rough. He jogged out of sight, but returned moments later, carrying the sack Jyro had provided. Rifling through the contents, he procured a set of small shoes, an odd mesh of sneakers and boots. "You'll want these," he said. He tossed them to the ground near Spock's feet, but made no move closer.

Spock felt strangely detached from his body. He was able to move, but only in stiff and jerky motions. He retrieved the shoes and mechanically slipped them on. While his fingers automatically fastened the metal clasps, his mind replayed the fight he had just witnessed. His eyes fixed on the rebel's unmoving form.

Kirk watched Spock with growing unease. The kid was in shock. "He's not dead," he said, finding it necessary to assure Spock of this.

Spock managed to pull his gaze from the deathly still body. He stared at Kirk for a full minute before nodding.

ooo

"The lieutenant left," Spock stated, not knowing why he chose to bring the matter up. From observation alone, Jim would have been able to conclude that the lieutenant had left. There had been no one in the clearing other than himself and the rebel.

With a tightness in his tone that suggested the words were difficult to form, Kirk said, "I know. I found him before I got to you." Anger filled him, both at himself and at Carter. Carter had defied his order, but he had failed to keep the man safe.

Spock reaffirmed his hold around Jim's neck. The shoes Jim had procured were large on his feet, but a significant improvement. He could have jogged alongside Jim, but the man wished to move fast.

In the aftermath of Jim's fight with the rebel, Spock felt no emotion. His fear and panic had given way to numbness. It wasn't the comfortable control of emotion, but rather the absence of it.

"He shouldn't have left you," Kirk muttered. "Damn fool."

"You are angry," Spock said, somehow making the statement a question without any inflection.

Navigating the forest at night was no easy task. Moving at a slow jog, Kirk tried to keep his footing. He recognized Spock's state of shock and did his best to keep the kid talking. He would have recited the alphabet if it kept Spock focused on something. Kirk had anger to keep him focused, so he held onto it and said, "He left you."

"Indeed," Spock agreed, still not seeing the correlation.

Jaw clenching, Kirk said, "I gave him an order to stay. It was a dereliction of duty."

Spock was able to accept this logic, but Jim's next words only served to confuse him all over again.

"Who leaves a kid? I'd have killed him myself if he weren't already dead." A small voice in the back of his head asked whether Carter would have acted differently had Kirk not pushed him so hard. The lieutenant had performed admirably under the circumstances. Carter hadn't left Spock, the man had simply gone to retrieve his captain. It had been Kirk who'd left.

In his confusion, Spock's interest piqued. "For Humans, who are often swayed by their emotions, the instinct to survive can become an imperative. Had the lieutenant remained at my side, his chances for survival would have been considerably lower."

"He had his orders," Kirk practically growled. "And if he'd had an ounce of moral fiber, he wouldn't have needed orders to keep him from leaving." His misguided anger had him lashing out at a good man and making irrational statements. He'd regret it later. For now, he needed to vent.

"Is that why you returned?" Spock asked. He paused, weighing an unfamiliar term before using it. "Moral fiber?"

A sharp bark of laughter escaped Kirk. His running rhythm faltered as a result. "Yeah, something like that."

"I had not anticipated your return."

"I made quite an entrance, didn't I?" Kirk joked.

Silence fell between them. Minutes later, Kirk said, "You shouldn't be surprised. I'm gonna fix you. God knows I would have blown the ship up without you harping at me all the time."

Spock didn't reply, though he was tempted to ask for clarification. It seemed prudent to cease further conversation. Jim's breathing had become labored.

At the sound of running water, the weight of Kirk's anger and grief bled away. Relief blossomed and urged him to run faster. The ground sloped upwards. Sweat stung his eyes.

"Jim," Spock said, arms tightening around the captain's neck.

Kirk heard the hint of alarm in Spock's tone. Seconds later, he heard the cause of it. Shouts rang out and the guards from the village followed close behind.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

Beta read by the awesome **sexy-jess **

Imprint

Chapter Five

Sprinting uphill, Kirk pushed through his exhaustion and demanded that his body give more. He would have welcomed a tri-ox compound, but he'd trained under worse conditions than slightly lower oxygen levels. Conditions hadn't been ideal on the drill platform high above Vulcan's thin atmosphere, but he'd still managed to hold out long enough to get the job done. That's all he needed to do now. Get the job done.

The sound of gushing water magnified tenfold as Kirk drew closer and the trees thinned. The rebels from the village were fifty yards and closing.

Kirk urged his legs faster, going full out and blessing the terrain as it leveled. Twenty yards ahead, the ground dropped off. Longitude and latitude meant nothing now that Kirk realized his elevation had been the biggest issue. It was a sheer drop down to the water.

The first shot rang out, an unwelcome but expected sound. Little arms tightened around Kirk's neck. Struggling to find the breath to speak, he managed to ask, "Do you trust me?" In his experience, nothing good ever came of that question.

Chin tucked against Jim's shoulder, Spock replied, "Yes." He recalled the manner in which Jim had rushed to his defense. Jim had returned for him, protected him, and would not leave him. His trust in the man was only logical.

"Get down and run for the cliff."

Without question, Spock dropped to the ground. He stumbled before catching his balance. If he had time to consider it, he would have relished the opportunity to move freely. He sprinted ahead, determined match the captain's previous pace.

A phaser with a quarter charge couldn't do much when Kirk was so far away from his target, but the rebels had reason to fear the weapon. As expected, the rebels scattered in response to his return fire. He shot off the last few rounds. Spock had already reached the edge, or as near to it as was safe. The ground sloped down before completely dropping off.

Spock inched cautiously towards the edge, attempting to glimpse the river below. The shifting gleam of dark water slithered through the wide canyon, but it was too dark to accurately estimate its distance, rate of flow, or depth. The river's most distinct feature was its sound, a kind of gushing roar that echoed against exposed rock wall.

Joining the boy near the edge, Kirk held his arms out as if expecting a hug. "I need you to hold onto to me." After a moment, he added, "Tight."

The rebels weren't far behind, no doubt realizing that Kirk was out of both ammunition and options. Without towering trees to mute the noise, the gunfire resounded as though it came from every direction.

Thinking that Jim intended to scale the rock wall, since no other plan of action was available in their cornered position, Spock began to protest such a dangerous endeavor. "Jim-"

Acting with the sort of immediacy that usually landed him in trouble, Kirk swept Spock into his arms. It was a scarce five steps to the edge. His long stride and heavy tread kicked grit into the air. As he pushed off the final step, he felt a prick in his left calf muscle that instantly came alive with pain. A cry worked its way up his throat, but as his body arced over the edge, adrenaline spiked through his every nerve ending and the quick plummet distracted him.

"Jim!" Spock clutched at Jim's coat, struggling to find purchase and hang on as instructed. His world upended. Up became down as he spun through the air, wind whipping at him from all directions. He couldn't fathom Jim's motive for jumping. Even as his eyes caught the final glimpse of the ground that rose higher as he fell lower, he failed to understand what was happening. Jim had sentenced him to death. The illogic of such actions escaped him.

"Hang on!" Kirk yelled. Panic threatened to take hold when he couldn't find a point of reference. It was too dark. The night sky blurred with the dark ridges of rock wall. He was a seasoned diver, but night jumps were notoriously difficult even with preparation.

Kirk could feel the direction they fell, where the wind hit strongest. He used the air, testing it and leaning into it until he managed to redirect his body feet first. If they cleared the rock wall and didn't crash against an outcropping, then they were going to hit the water like a ton of bricks. He'd never live down the fact that he had literally leapt without looking.

Spock couldn't hook his legs around Jim's waist. His coat fell like a long tunic to his knees and he didn't have the freedom to maneuver the garment out of the way. The firmness of Jim's embrace kept the weightless disorientation from completely overwhelming him, but his heart pounded in panic. They kept falling and it seemed endless. Spock knew they would hit the water or an outcropping of rock. Eyes scrunched shut, he buried his face against Jim's neck while his fingers gouged holes in the man's parka.

Spotting the dark gleam of water below, Kirk straightened his legs and he angled their impact. "Take a breath!"

Jim's instruction was beyond Spock. He could only cling and frantically try to calculate their force of impact. Before he could even factor their combined weight, Jim's arms tightened in warning.

They hit hard and sank like deadweight. Pain exploded in the leg where Kirk had taken a shot.

The river was deeper, faster, and colder than Kirk had anticipated. The water seemed to drag him in every direction at once. An armful of struggling Vulcan didn't help matters. Jumping off a cliff quickly became less appealing than a firing squad of angry Thelosian rebels.

Submerged in frigid water, Spock reacted instinctively. He pushed away from Jim as their combined weight dragged him down. He broke free, but felt the desperate snatch of the man's hands trying to pull him back.

Spock surfaced first, sputtering for air and grabbing at the water as though it were solid.

When Kirk surfaced, he gasped a lungful of air and yelled for Spock.

"Jim!" Spock called out, head whipping around. He fell under again as the water's tow volleyed against him. The water frothed white near the surface, but the black underbelly appeared bottomless. The prospect of sinking into that darkness was terrifying.

Kirk turned about, searching for Spock. He spotted the boy's dark form and surged forward, attempting a clumsy breaststroke. His injured leg wanted to curl up. He suspected that hitting the water had fracture or even broken the bone. The frigid water lapped around his calf as if to sooth what it had done on impact. It made it possible for him to ignore his leg. The cold relief was misleading. His fingers were already stiff. He needed to grab Spock and swim to the narrow shoreline before he lost all sensation in his limbs. Hypothermia was a concern, but drowning was the greater risk at the moment.

Spock mirrored Kirk's struggle. The boy thrashed desperately. Vulcan or Human, a kid weighed down by heavy clothing was helpless against a strong current. He wanted to shout for Spock to simply let the current carry him and that he would eventually get there, but Kirk didn't have the breath for it. He was exhausted, every ounce of his strength focused on measured strokes and navigating the rough water. The current jostled him back and forth, jerking him in different directions and countering his attempts at every turn.

Reaching Spock was all that mattered. When it seemed like he could make a final lunge and snatch at Spock's coat, the boy disappeared beneath the water.

Spock floundered, clothes dragging him down. The water wanted to suck him under. It pulled him in every direction that he didn't want to go. Suddenly, there are hands on him, pulling him up. He broke the surface with a ragged gasp.

Kirk slipped his arm around Spock's chest and towed him along as he swam for the shore.

Spock's head fell back against Jim's shoulder. He coughed and gasped, shivering in turn.

"You're alright," Kirk croaked, giving the boy a weak squeeze.

"Jim," Spock said, the name rolling off his green tinged lips like a plea. He didn't recognize his own voice.

"You're okay. I got you."

Panting, Kirk made slow progress. Ahead, the water splashed and foamed around jutting rocks that dammed the way. The glistening peaks of the sharp rocks were like miniature icebergs. He redoubled his efforts and searched for a safe path through the rapids. Even if there were a clear opening, the current was too strong. There was no guarantee that he could control their course enough to avoid a nasty battering.

"I'm going to push you onto a rock," Kirk gasped. He found his mark. The rock was low enough to climb atop. He swam into alignment and waited for the right moment. He absorbed the impact with his side, an experience he didn't want to repeat. Throwing his free arm up, his fingers clamped around rough edges and dug in. He felt the success of his plan in his shoulder as they jerked to a stop.

With a grunt, Kirk hauled Spock against the rock. The kid weighed a hell of a lot more in wet clothes. "Grab on!" he shouted, half begged. He felt his strength failing. He couldn't push Spock all the way up. They would fall back if Spock didn't manage it alone.

Spock scrambled for a grip, face pressed flush against the hard surface. He felt Jim's hand at his back, holding him in place until he gained footing. His shoes slipped off each time he tried for a foothold. Finally, he managed to plant a foot. He surged up, hands scraping against the top of the rock as he heaved himself onto it.

Scrambling onto his hands and knees, Spock turned around and reached out to help Jim. Eyes wide with unrestrained horror, he watched as Jim's hand fell short of his. The man's precarious hold on the rock failed. In that faltering second, the river snatched Jim away.

"Jim!"

Kirk felt a fleeting sense of relief that Spock had made it. The kid was safe for the moment, which he considered a job well done. He wasn't cold anymore, just numb and weightless and so tired. His aches and pains were becoming distant memories.

Disbelieving, Spock remained crouched on the rock, staring after Jim's limp form as it bobbed below the water. He silently urged the man to start swimming, to head towards the shore before reaching the dangerous patch of rapids. Jim didn't swim, didn't even fight to the surface when the water engulfed him.

ooo

Aboard the Enterprise in the CMO's office, McCoy pored over daily reports. Nothing but first degree electrical burns from clumsy engineers and a contagious rash originating in the botany lab.

Christine Chapel made her fifth pass in front of the office door.

"Chapel," McCoy called out, not bothering to look up from his terminal screen.

With an armful of stacked datapad charts, Chapel backtracked several steps until she filled the open doorway. McCoy had a strict open door policy. The man was notorious for his distrust of technology, so it followed that he wouldn't rely on the comm system to alert him of an emergency.

Eyes still riveted on the screen, McCoy said, "Just how many times do you plan on checking in here?"

Caught in the act, Chapel felt a blush creep to her cheeks. Chin lifting defiantly, she said, "As many times as needed for you to take the hint."

McCoy finally looked up, regarding his head nurse with somber hazel eyes. Dark shadows made his roguishly handsome features appear sunken.

"Doctor, you've been here forty-eight hours straight. Please, take a break."

Running a hand over his face, McCoy released a quiet groan of fatigue. He scratched at the scruffy bristles along his unshaven jaw line. "If you knew the number of times I've patched our dear captain back together, you'd understand."

"He's your friend," Chapel said, her dark blue eyes softening. Her deep voice was almost a purr.

Lines of worry etched McCoy's brow. "Something like that," he said. Jim was more than his friend. The fool kid was like his little brother. If all their missions involved Jim caught in a maelstrom of political bullshit, hurt and waylaid someplace that McCoy couldn't reach him, then he'd resign. He couldn't take this waiting game. He was next to useless puttering around sickbay, restocking cabinets and regenerating minor burns.

"Get some sleep," Chapel advised before taking her leave.

Sleep was impossible when McCoy knew Jim was down on that godforsaken planet. He returned to the daily reports. The lines blurred together as his tired eyes refused to focus.

Just then, his comm chirped.

"Bridge to McCoy," Uhura's crisp voice relayed.

Though the comm was within arm's reach, McCoy stood to answer the call. "McCoy here. Tell me something good."

"We got him," Sulu answered in place of Uhura. "His signal anyway. Scotty cut through the interference. You want to join us up here?"

"I'm on my way. McCoy out." Bag of medical supplies in hand, McCoy swept out his office door. He spotted Chapel and she gave him a nod of understanding.

ooo

Disbelief was foremost in Spock's mind. Still crouched atop the rock, he stared at the last place he had caught sight of Jim. As the minutes ticked by, he waited expectantly for Jim to resurface. Against the odds, Jim had returned for him in the woods. The man had sworn to remain at his side.

Sopping clothes clung to him, forcing every inch of his body to feel the freezing bite of winter. He shivered convulsively. When the futility of his expectant gaze finally settled in, he sat back and rung excess water from his clothing.

Alone once again, he searched the dark waters and towering rock walls for indications of help. There was no one else.

He stood and carefully navigated his way to the shoreline. As he used clustered rocks like stepping stones, he realized how calculated Jim's actions had been. Even under duress, logic underscored the man's brash actions. Once he reached the pebble-strewn shore, he gave the water a wide berth and began to walk.

Snow fluttered down from the overcast sky. Within the canyon's enclosure there was less snowfall, but the air misted a frosty white with every breath. The air's dampness and his sodden clothes made the freezing climate unbearable. His skin stung as precious heat bled away.

Spock didn't have to think about where he was going. His body moved automatically in the direction that the water had taken Jim. Despite the logical conclusion that Jim could not have survived the barrage of rapids or falling unconscious beneath deep waters, he could determine no other course of action.

The wind funneled down from above, cutting back and forth at sharp angles. Spock kept his eyes trained on the ground and his head bowed. Every movement brought his body in contact with the freezing wetness of his clothes. His lengthy coat hindered his stride, but his shoes were a small mercy.

There was little chance of finding shelter within the steep cliff face. He might attempt to construct a small fortress out of stones, but residing in one place presented the threat of being found. If the rebels continued to give chase, then he needed to keep moving.

Lips tinged purple, he clamped his teeth together to keep them from chattering. He no longer felt the pins and needles in his feet or hands. His appendages were numb, suggesting the onset of frostbite.

After the first kilometer, the river smoothed to a glossy black sheet. The rapids had been isolated, perhaps the result of a rock slide. Dark eyes remained fixed on the thin strip of shoreline that vanished into the distance. He set markers for himself, waiting until he passed one to set another. Four kilometers became eight and then ten. His steps were heavy and increasingly clumsy.

Every so often, he glanced skyward and discerned the high ridge of the canyon's edge. Jim had leapt without hesitance. In retrospect, he conceded that such drastic measures had been necessary. Faced with a band of armed assailants who had previously demonstrated the intent to kill, jumping into the river held a higher statistical likelihood of survival. He wondered if Jim had calculated the odds beforehand.

In his hypothermic state, he could stave off shock for another two hours. He regulated his blood circulation as best he could, but without extensive meditation, he could not effectively control his body's functions.

The chance of finding Jim grew slimmer with each step. At 1.97 percent, the chance that Jim's body had washed ashore was only slightly higher than the chance that the man hadn't drowned. Factoring in the Jim's exhaustion, the rapids and undertow, and the river's lack of bends that would help deposit a body, Spock should have counted Jim as dead. However, within 1.97 percent resided the faintest of hope.

While Spock's Vulcan mind clutched at calculations, he didn't recognize the prone figure in the distance. At first glance, it appeared to be another dislodged rock from the cliff. The night's cast of shadows made everything angular and misshapen.

As he drew closer, the form caught his attention. The black pants and dark blue jacket blended in with the shore's violet stones.

Chapped lips fell open in a silent gasp. Heedless of the slick ground, Spock sprinted. In his haste, he narrowly tripped over Jim's still form. With shaky hands, he grabbed the man's shoulder and turned him over.

Jim's coloring was wrong. Humans were supposed to be warm reds and pinks. Jim's blue lips and bleached skin made for a frightening contrast against the mottled cuts and bruises that littered his face.

After clenching his teeth for so long, Spock's jaw was stiff. His clumsy attempt at saying Jim's name came out as a hoarse croak. He tried again and managed a firm, "Jim."

He checked for a pulse, but his fingers were too numb to register tactile sensation. Spock knew of several life sustaining procedures intended for such emergencies, but they were not designed for Human physiology.

Despite his association with Humans, he had not cultivated an extensive knowledge of their culture or biological functioning. He had considered it prudent to focus his studies on all things Vulcan, so as to discourage assertions that he wasn't _Vulcan enough_.

He thought he saw a faint rise and fall of Jim's chest, but desperation and unchecked emotions compromised his observations.

Fingers hovering over Jim's neck, Spock studied the man's lax features. Unguarded meld points drew his focus. Spock had never initiated a meld or even touched the surface of another's mind. He had learned the technique in school. It required great discipline. His current state of mind was fractured. A meld was out of the question, but he could ghost the surface and determine whether Jim lived.

With an eagerness that betrayed his inadequate state of mind, Spock arranged his fingers over Jim's meld points. The absence of psionic energy was alarming, but Humans were a psi-null species.

Taking several meditative breaths, Spock suppressed the array of emotions he had neglected to rein in earlier. One by one, he gathered his errant concerns and fears. He blockaded the impulse center, which was a ruthless technique that utilized suppression rather than control. Vulcans preferred control, but he didn't have the strength for it at the moment. Like a lit match trapped in a sealed jar, the emotions dimmed until only a trickle of smoke and faint ember remained.

His mind was not at peace, but for the moment his thoughts were ordered and clear enough to attempt penetrating Jim's mind. He centered all thought on the mind beneath his hand. Warmth blossomed against his fingertips. The sensation was soothing as it emanated along his hand. The warmth spread from fingers to palm, then to his wrist and arm. It enveloped him, warming him to the core. It rocked him, welcomed him and soothed every ache.

The siren of warmth was the buzz of Jim's subconscious, a mind that had retreated from the world. It hummed, singing and beckoning Spock closer. His fingers pressed firmer against Jim's meld points, but he realized the danger involved and broke away. The warmth fled in an instant. His hand trembled in response. Numbness returned. His body shivered a plaintive request for more warmth.

Before Spock could settle on his next course of action, a sharp chirruping whistle cut through the river's loud din.

"Enterprise to Captain Kirk," a disembodied voice sounded from Jim's hip.

Quick to realize the source of the voice, Spock grabbed the communicator and flipped it open. He studied the device, deducing its basic functions. Pressing down the relay button, he said, "This is Spock."

There was a long pause. A quick glance at Jim's unconscious form made Spock impatient. Remembering everything that Jim had told him about himself as first officer aboard the Enterprise, he assumed an authority that he was not entitled.

"Captain Kirk is unconscious at present. If you are able to transport myself and the captain aboard the Enterprise, I request that you do so with haste."

"Commander Spock?" was the only reply. It was a question laced with doubt.

Small fingers clutching the communicator tightly, Spock quelled rising panic. He had not considered a scenario that involved negotiating directly with crewmembers from the Enterprise. He did not know them and they would be equally unfamiliar with him.

"Can you transport us?" Spock repeated. If communications were open, then they were either out of reach of the jamming signal or the ship had resolved a solution to the interference. It stood to reason that the Enterprise was now capable of beaming them aboard.

"Aye, we've a solid lock on yer signal," the voice replied. "Ye say the cap'n is with ye?"

The request was clear, but Jim was unable to negotiate the situation. "As I said, Captain Kirk is incapacitated. Your doubt regarding my identity is evident. I shall endeavor to explain, but must insist you beam us aboard first. Captain Kirk is in need of medical attention. Further debate in this matter may prove fatal to him."

It might already be too late. Jim's lips were too blue. This man who had done so much to protect him lay in front of him unmoving, not even a flicker behind closed eyelids.

"Aye, it doona sound like ye, Commander, but ye talk the same. We'll be beamin' ye in just a moment. Hold yer position."

Spock watched the bright particles circle his form. He allowed himself a moment of fascinated observation.

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Star Trek doesn't belong to me. This story is a work of fiction set in the world Gene Roddenberry and JJ Abrams created. I make no profit from this work.

In accordance with my promise of cuddles for those of you who identified The Simpson's reference, I did a random bit of art (you should be afraid). Links are in my profile.

Imprint

Chapter Six

When Spock rematerialized, he barely registered the room of bright lights and sleek paneling. The world exploded into chaos. Unrestrained emotions blared around him, battering against his frail defenses.

On instinct, he shuffled back from the loud broadcast. Worry and fear were the predominant emotions thrown his way. His own concern for Jim's welfare added to the raucous mix.

A tall man with wayward brown hair and a scruffy beard stood nearby with a medical tricorder. The medic's hazel eyes gave Spock a passing glance. He almost expected those eyes to recognize him, but the man's attentions became riveted on the unmoving form at his feet.

"Chapel," the man barked as he marched onto the transporter pad. A petite blonde woman moved with him. "Alert bay three. I want thermal blankets and a Cordrazine solution." The man's hands roamed Jim's lifeless body. "Fuck that's a weak pulse," he cursed with a vehemence that had Spock retreating a step further.

McCoy stripped away Jim's soaked jacket. Watery blood that trickled onto the transporter pad from beneath the man's leg. When he cut through the captain's shirt, his stomach clenched at the sight of ghostly pale skin. Before the tricorder had logged the injuries, he'd already created a mental list. Tender hands searched for the leg wound and carefully cut away the left pant leg. Anger washed over him at the sight of the inflamed puncture. It must have hurt like a bitch. There was no exit wound, which meant surgery to dig around inside and assess the damage.

Prioritizing Jim's hypothermic shock, McCoy held out a hand and closed his fingers around the hypospray that Chapel gave him. He jabbed the spray against Jim's neck. Chapel came around to Jim's other side and discretely cut away the remainder of black regulation pants.

"Let's get him up," McCoy called over his shoulder. Scotty and one of the male nurses helped McCoy lift Jim onto a stretcher. "Watch the leg."

Chapel already had the captain wrapped in a thermal blanket. His pale flesh appeared grey edged with blue.

As quickly as the chaos had descended, it moved away. The doctor and the medical team began to carry Jim from the transport pad. When Spock began to follow, the others broke from their single-minded concern for the captain.

Though the medic who tended Jim remained focused on tricorder readings, the man stopped one of the other medics and pointed towards Spock. "I want the kid in bay three with the captain. Get M'Benga to check him out."

When the skinny medic approached Spock with a thermal blanket, he took a step back and conveyed his desire to drape the blanket over himself.

"Can you walk?" the man asked him.

Spock inclined a single eyebrow at this. He was clearly capable of walking given that he had already done so. "Yes," he said curtly. The ship's climate and the heat of the blanket began to thaw his stiff limbs, but a coldness settled in the pit of his stomach as the vulgar mouthed medic took Jim away.

Spock followed at a reasonable distance, intent on dissuading unnecessary contact. His mind was not properly guarded. Though he had managed to quiet the emotions that infused the air, a single careless touch could undo him. Unlike Jim, the Humans aboard the Starfleet vessel did not have the forethought to "turn down the volume."

Efforts focused on strengthening his mind against outside influence, Spock remained unaware of his surroundings until his escort led him into the large medical bay. From the center facility, there were numerous offshoots. Passing the entrances to bays one and two, he searched for bay three. Before it came into sight, he heard a great deal of commotion.

The scruffy medic, whose professionalism left much to be desired, shouted, "Dammit Jim!"

"There was a kid," Jim said in earnest. "Where's the kid?"

Spock masked his surprise at the sound of Jim's voice, raspy but strong. There was life in that voice. He quickened his pace to reach the bay's opening. Once inside, he observed the blonde woman and scruffy man on either side of Jim's exam bed. Jim was attempting to sit upright, legs kicking off the blanket.

"Chapel, sedate him," McCoy ordered, forcefully pinning Jim to the bed.

Kirk renewed his struggles and gave a plaintive, "No." As he fought against Bones' hold, he inclined his head and caught sight of Spock. He went still. His sudden lack of movement caught Bones and Chapel's attention. Bright blue eyes blazed with a fierce light, looking fevered and desperate. "Spock," he said, the name catching in his throat. He let his head fall back to the bed.

Chapel approached with the hypo, but McCoy held up a hand to stop her. He turned to regard the young boy, who stood nearby huddled beneath a blanket. He glanced at the nurse that accompanied the Vulcan. "Station six," he said, prompting the nurse to take the boy away.

A troubling implication hung in the air, but McCoy's priority was Jim. He didn't have the luxury of puzzling out the presence of a Vulcan child or why Jim had called the boy "Spock." He'd arrived in the transporter room seconds before Jim's lame form materialized. He wasn't keen on letting the reckless captain out of his sight ever again.

Spock moved intently, each step heavier than the last. His firm refusal for assistance onto the bio-bed earned him a scowl from the nurse.

A dark skinned man with soft eyes approached and conferred with the nurse in hushed tones. Spock heard every word. The newcomer asked after the captain before settling his attention on Spock.

"Let's take a look at you," M'Benga said.

Spock suppressed his discomfort at the proximity of the man who was clearly a doctor. His gaze cast in Jim's direction, his bed only a couple meters away, obscured by a privacy curtain. He strained his ears for Jim's voice, but there were only the occasional orders from the doctor who'd been in the transporter room.

"I'm Dr. M'Benga," the doctor in front of Spock introduced.

Spock nodded in response.

"Can you tell me your name?"

All trace of expression vanished from Spock's face. The doctor's patronizing tone might be suitable for addressing a Human child, but not for a Vulcan. With a stiff posture and unblinking gaze, he said, "I am Spock."

M'Benga faltered, but resumed his scans. "Spock?" His doubt was evident.

As M'Benga posed a series of questions, Spock sought to focus on the throbbing in his hands. Improved circulation brought stinging warmth. Focused on the discomfort, he suppressed his frustration at the Human doctor's inability to consolidate questions.

After Dr. M'Benga asked for the third if Spock believed himself to be Commander Spock, his patience began to fray. "It is not my belief that I am _Commander_ Spock of the USS Enterprise_. _I am S'chn T'gai Spock, son of Sarek. Captain Kirk has apprised me of the anomalous circumstances wherein I have somehow regressed both physically and mentally. I am not aware of this regression, as I have no memory of being older than my current age."

"What's the last thing you remember?" M'Benga asked, studying the tricorder scans.

"I assume you are referring to my final memory prior to waking up in the company of Captain Kirk."

With a scratch to his brow, M'Benga said, "Yes."

Spock had considered this many times. "I am unable to determine an exact moment. The seamless shift may be due to my lack of consciousness. I can only describe the experience as waking up where I do not recall falling asleep."

M'Benga didn't appear appeased by this answer. "I'll run a DNA sample."

"That would be an expedient means of confirming my identity," Spock said with a faint quirk of his eyebrow. A DNA comparison had been the obvious solution from the beginning.

M'Benga adjusted the tricorder and took a skin sample with the light press of the scanner. He handed the scanner to the nurse. "Run this sample through the computer banks. Compare it to Commander Spock's genome code on file. Bring me the results as fast as you can."

McCoy approached and inclined his head to M'Benga, asking for a word. "The captain won't shut up about seeing the kid," he said. His clip tone disguised his heartfelt relief that Jim was able to complain like always. Jim's complaints were the surest sign that he was going to be okay, even if a shot of Cordrazine was the only thing that had kept the man's heart from stopping.

M'Benga showed McCoy the Vulcan child's scans. They conferred, speaking in low tones that seemed universal to physicians. Spock sat quietly, listening and waiting. As a hybrid between two species, he was often the subject of medical debate. Doctors' visits were a monthly occurrence for him.

McCoy glanced at the boy. His sharp gaze took stock of the station. Brow furrowed, he asked, "Did you start fluids?"

A look of surprise suggested that it hadn't even occurred to M'Benga to actually treat Spock. The glaringly obvious issue of identity had been a bit of a distraction. "I was about to," said M'Benga.

Scowling now, McCoy bristled with rising anger. "Get your priorities in order." He rooted through the station's drawers and patted the head of the bed. "Scoot up here and lay back," he said to his new patient.

Spock maneuvered to the head of the bed and reluctantly reclined.

With his back to M'Benga as he worked, McCoy said, "A kid's a kid, whether it's on a starship or dirt-side. Don't stand around theorizing about what happened. You're a doctor."

M'Benga didn't argue.

McCoy started to look Spock over, heedless of where he touched or how much. "Chapel," he called out. Nurse Chapel had a way of appearing out of thin air. True to form, she stood at the foot of the bed seconds later. "Get a set of patient scrubs that'll fit him."

Spock clenched his hands and sought inner calm. The doctor's heightened emotions washed over him. Anger, annoyance, impatience, worry, relief. When hazel eyes glanced towards Jim's station, there was a flash of what he often sensed in his mother. The man's methodical movements betrayed nothing of the wild emotions beneath the surface.

When it seemed that the doctor would exam every inch of him, Spock spoke up. "Doctor, I am capable of assessing my own health. There is no permanent damage from my previous hypothermic condition. I am dehydrated and fatigued, which are easily rectified. I have sustained no injuries that require immediate attention. Perhaps you should return your focus to Captain Kirk. I believe he-"

"Christ, you _are_ Spock," McCoy exclaimed, standing back and staring with a look of bewilderment.

"While I do not doubt my own identity, I believe your conclusions lack the necessary evidence."

As if on cue, the nurse M'Benga had sent away returned. The nurse handed a datapad to M'Benga, who read the screen with wide eyes. M'Benga offered his tablet to McCoy. "DNA results," he announced. "A match."

McCoy studied the screen. After he reread the results three times, he waved the small pad at Spock and said, "Here's my evidence."

"Indeed," Spock agreed.

Though Spock did not welcome Dr. McCoy's continued ministrations, he was grateful that the man's focus was limited to his physical health. As soon as his scrapes were healed and his hands and feet determined to have no lasting damage, the doctor did not linger. Dr. McCoy ordered him to sleep, instead of subjecting him to further inquiry about his identity. He assumed a formal inquiry into the events on Thelos would occur after he had rested.

Settled in bed, his wet clothes exchanged for a set of dark navy scrubs, Spock felt the weight of sickbay's silence. For the first time since beaming aboard, he absorbed his surroundings. The sterile medical bay had a disquieting atmosphere. Noises were hushed. With the curtain drawn around his station, he was isolated. A false night descended when the lights dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of nightlights along the border of the bay's floor.

The metered blip of his own vital signs slowed the deeper he sank into meditation. Sleep was elusive despite his fatigue. Wary and tense, he struggled to acclimate to yet another drastic shift in his environment. Even with his dulled olfactory sense, he could smell a tinge of antiseptic. He would have preferred the damp earthen smells of caves and trees, or even the stale musk of Jim's sweat drenched neckline.

Shifting deeper beneath his crisp white blanket, Spock fought a sense of helplessness. Instinctively, he sought the comforting bond of his mother, only to encounter a cold void. Feeling her absence, his composure slipped. There was no danger aboard the ship, but he was afraid.

He considered the questions that the doctor and crew would eventually ask. His answers were largely based on information that Jim had provided. He could recount his experiences on Thelos, but he could not explain his presence on the planet or why he was out of his time. Jim had spoken about fixing him as though he were broken. When his mind drifted chaotically, he considered the he might very well be broken.

Sitting upright, he shifted off the bed. The hiss of material as he dragged the blanket from the bed sounded inappropriately loud in the near silent sickbay. He patted over to Jim's sectioned area. The bay appeared abandoned, no one else within sight. He slipped between the curtain's seam. There was a single chair positioned near the head of the bed. He had the impression that someone had recently occupied the seat.

Spock settled into the chair and studied the sleeping captain. Jim's lips were pale, but faintly pink. The color had a pleasing vitality. Blond hair stuck out in unkempt tufts against the pillow. The man's relaxed expression made him appear younger. There was something delicate and fragile in Jim's sleeping expression that Spock did not understand. The cuts and scrapes were faint, almost healed. Dirt and grime had been cleaned away. Spock had been grateful for his own decontamination shower earlier.

He studied the vital readings on the monitor above the bed, once more regretting that he had not cultivated a better understanding of the Human body. The steady rise and fall of Jim's chest gave Spock a reassurance that he hadn't realized he'd been looking for.

He fell into meditation, setting aside thoughts of his mother and home. Despite being in an unfamiliar environment, Jim was there. Jim had been at his side from the start, faltering and desperate and entirely Human, but adept at keeping him safe. With a quiet sigh, Spock held to that thought.

Finding his anchor, he achieved the calm he needed to complete his meditations.

ooo

Spock became aware of a harsh beeping noise. The beeps were rapid and sharp, calling alarm to anyone within range. Eyes snapping open, he straightened from his slouched position.

On the bed, blankets askew, Jim twitched and gave a violent jerk. Spock was on his feet, intent on retrieving a doctor.

"The kid," Kirk mumbled, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Dazed eyes glanced around until they found Spock. Though the monitor continued to flash red, the beeps slowed.

"Should I retrieve a doctor?" Spock asked, poised to leave.

Kirk hummed something, struggling to speak. "No," he finally managed. "Stay… I just forgot… thought you were left behind."

Spock studied the monitor. When it stopped flashing red, he stepped back from the curtain's opening. "I came aboard with you," he said.

Kirk hummed again, a note that suggested agreement. Taking a sharp breath, he urged his mind to wake up. Dulled senses told him that Bones had sedated him. He waved an unsteady hand towards the chair.

Spock complied after a hesitant moment. He sat on the edge of the chair, ready to act if the need arose.

"How're you?" Kirk asked, making an effort to shift higher against his pillow. When Spock didn't answer right away, he added, "Ten fingers and ten toes?"

"My appendages are in working order," Spock replied.

"The Brotherhood…" Kirk began but trailed off. After a moment, he rephrased his question, "How'd we get here?"

"Communications were reestablished with the Enterprise. I spoke with a crewman on board and requested transport."

Fighting a massive headache, Kirk closed his eyes for a moment. He smiled at Spock's dutiful response, but it turned to a grimace when he attempted to sit up and his head protested most vehemently.

Spock was on his feet again. "I will call for Dr. McCoy."

"No," Kirk hissed. Settling back down, he conceded to adjust the bed itself. He fumbled for the controls and elevated the head of the bed. "Sit. I'm fine."

"The definition of 'fine'-"

Kirk's broken chuckle interrupted Spock.

"The source of your amusement eludes me. Do you find humor in your injured state?" The man smiled and laughed, which was perhaps an indication of disorientation or cranial injury.

"No," Kirk assured. "I'm relieved. You look better." The memory of Spock's wilted form atop a rock was hazy, but he recalled discolored lips and a sunken expression of fear.

Spock moved back towards the chair, but didn't sit. He lingered near the bedside. A soft glow graced Jim's features in the dim station.

Blue eyes glinted with laughter as Kirk spoke. "The definition of 'fine' is subjective and has variable definitions. Given its multitude of interpretations and connotations, the term is an unsuitable description for one's health." He watched dark brown eyes narrow with what he read as consternation and annoyance. He laughed, the sound stronger than before.

"You are amused again," Spock said and glanced away.

"Laughter heals, kid. Stick around and I'll be at a hundred percent in no time."

Spock didn't respond, but he took his seat once again. He wondered if Jim had spoken facetiously or if there was merit to the claim that amusement had positive effects on the Human condition.

A small shiver shook Spock's frame. Having endured Thelos' climate for three days, shivering was practically a somatic response. His body was hypersensitive to subtle changes in temperature, a defense mechanism that urged him to maintain steady equilibrium. As he drew his discarded blanket around himself again, he searched for signs of continued chill in Jim's body. The man did not shiver, but he suspected that the doctor had administered a muscle relaxant to allow for unimpeded rest.

The sluggish haze of Kirk's doped system persisted in drawing his eyes closed. "Are you gonna watch over me?" he asked in a teasing tone. It should have felt strange to tease Spock, but every moment he spent with the young version of his first officer solidified his perceptions of the boy as someone completely different.

Spock felt Jim's piercing gaze and wondered if the man continued to find him inadequate. "If you are agreeable, I will remain here while you sleep."

Kirk's dulled mind took a moment to orient the comment. The boy _was_ watching over him. He would have laughed, but fondness kept his expression sober. "You're welcome to stay. Just not if you should be lying down yourself."

"I am sufficiently recovered," Spock assured in a neutral tone.

Bartering and bargaining with Spock had become a ritualistic pastime for Kirk when he was on the bridge. He offered a genuine smile and said, "But not fully." He made an effort to study the boy more closely and search for any indication of exhaustion or injury.

"Permitting a deterioration in my physical health, I will retire to my assigned station."

"Listen," Kirk said, wanting to cover a few points before he fell asleep again or before Bones found him awake and knocked him out. "There's no telling how long it'll take to fix you." He missed the slight flinch Spock made at this. "I'm sure Bones already has the science guys doing their thing. You're probably freaked out." He paused to recollect his thoughts, having forgotten his original point. "There's a woman. Lieutenant Uhura. Nyota Uhura. She's…" He made a vague quoting gesture with his fingers. "She's your lady friend. She'll want to be the one that looks out for you. She's on duty now, I'm guessing, otherwise she'd be here. If I'm stuck in sickbay for awhile, you'll want Uhura's help."

Spock processed the numerous implications. Several questions came to mind. He voiced them in order of priority. "What help do you anticipate I shall require from Lieutenant Uhura?"

Kirk wanted to ask if Spock understood what he'd meant by "lady friend." Perhaps he should have been more blunt, but pressing the point that Uhura was Spock's girlfriend was irrelevant. There were more important issues at hand, such as fixing the age regression.

Blinking heavy lids, Kirk addressed Spock's standing question. "We don't know what happened to you. There's no telling how long it'll take to fix. For all we know, it could wear off on its own." He refused to acknowledge the possibility that the regression might be permanent. If there was a way to make a person younger, then there was also a way to make them older. It was a universal balance.

They would find the answer, Kirk was certain. Unfortunately, he suspected that the answer would involve the relic and the shaman's knowledge of how it worked. He had to stop himself from thinking too far ahead. His crew was capable of assessing the situation on Thelos without him. He didn't need to tell Scotty to contact Starfleet Command and apprise them of the cluster fuck that had occurred.

A small furrow came to Spock's brow. "To clarify, you anticipate that I may remain in my present form for an extended period of time."

Tired, Kirk's response sounded more defeated than he intended. A solemn, "Yeah," was all he offered. An edge of worry sharpened his mind. Locking eyes with the boy, his determination shone through. "We'll fix this. You don't have to worry about that."

Spock could no longer ignore the discrediting implication that he was somehow broken. "Captain," he said stiffly, "you persist in addressing my condition as if it were a debilitating affliction. For my age, I am perfectly capable."

A long silence fell between them as Kirk read between the lines. He sank back against the bed, closed his eyes and sighed. Raising a weak hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't think about it that way," he admitted apologetically. "I'm sorry. From your point of view, nothing is wrong with you. I should've realized."

Spock dropped his gaze to the floor. "I am aware that by the standards to which you hold me, I am inadequate."

"No," Kirk said, harsher than he meant. Hand falling away, he regarded Spock sternly. "When I said that we'll fix you, I meant we'd reverse the regression. I didn't mean that something was wrong with you."

"You contradict yourself. If I have indeed regressed in age, then the point of error lies within me."

The convoluted intricacies of the situation did nothing to alleviate Kirk's headache. His expression tightened as his head throbbed. He remained still for a moment to form a response and let the throb abate. "You're not as old as you should be. Obviously that means you can't do everything that your older self can." Making a firm delineation between the older and younger versions helped his argument. "Right now, you're more than adequate. Most grown men couldn't go through what you did without falling apart."

"I am Vulcan. You are basing your assessment on Human standards. Vulcans exert greater control over their emotions and their physical abilities far exceed those of Humans. It is therefore only logical to assume that any Vulcan would be capable of maintaining calm under duress."

Groaning, Kirk began to wonder if he could make his point without misinterpretation. "What I'm trying to say is that the problem isn't with you or what you can do. The problem is the relic. The fact that you're thirteen when you should be twenty-eight doesn't mean you did something wrong. It means something went wrong and you had no control over it."

"You are suggesting that the problem you seek to fix lies outside my immediate means of control and therefore cannot be attributed to any fault or failing of my own?"

Kirk made a sudden gesture with his hand, pointing at Spock. "Yes. Exactly," he said.

Pleased to discover that Jim found no fault in him, Spock settled back in his seat. He nodded and accepted Jim's assertion.

Stifling a yawn, Kirk struggled to remember what else he'd wanted to tell Spock. He had mentioned Uhura, but there was more.

"You require further rest," Spock observed.

Kirk's eyes watered as he fought another yawn. "Don't tell Bones."

"Are you referring to Dr. McCoy?"

"Yeah," Kirk mumbled, eyes falling shut for a long moment.

Spock waited for Jim's eyes to open again, but they remained closed. The man's breathing slowed. He cast a pointed look to the monitor and studied the vitals keenly. Once satisfied, he closed his own eyes and sought to clear his mind for further meditation.

ooo

Spock managed to finish another complete cycle. He resurfaced to awareness with a secure barrier between his mind and the world around him. On instinct, he studied the bio-bed's readings once again. There were no notable changes.

With a continued interest in the vital signs, he slipped from his seat. He knew there were heart rhythms, body temperature, and brain waves on display. He did not know how many beats per minute were standard for Human hearts or whether Humans could control their brainwaves. He did know that Humans required more sleep to sustain their health.

Clutching the blanket around his shoulders, he stood at the bedside. Jim slept, soft lips relaxed and cheeks flushed a healthy color. Jim was shorter than average by Vulcan standards, but likely tall for a Human. His lithe form was deceptively strong. The bright yellow coloring of his hair was curious. The strands were a near golden, threaded with darker copper hues. Spock wondered at its texture.

The vitals were steady, but the slow heart rate continued to perplex him. On Thelos, he had noted that the Jim's heart was contained the upper region of the chest cavity. Intrigued by this anatomical design, he reached out to confirm his previous findings. Hand slipping beneath Jim's blanket, he set it against a firm chest. He felt the faint contractions, the valves fluxed and chambers filled at a pace significantly slower than a Vulcan heart. Fascinating.

Kirk woke with a start. His hand snapped out and grabbed Spock's wrist.

Spock stiffened in surprise, but did not pull away.

Kirk glanced at the small hand on his chest and then to the boy. He released his hold and slowly relaxed.

Spock lowered his hand to his side. "If I have transgressed, I apologize." The tips of his ears warmed as he considered the inappropriateness of his actions. His curiosity had clouded his judgment.

Kirk frowned and shifted his head against his pillow to better see Spock. His throat was dry. "You're fine," he assured as he began to sit up. His mind was more lucid, but his body ached everywhere. He reached awkwardly for the water bottle on the nearby table. Spock grabbed it first. He took the offered container and nodded his thanks.

The thin straw ensured that thirsty patients would take their time drinking. When Kirk had downed most of the bottle, he took a deep breath and settled back. "What was it?" he asked. "My heart?"

Spock gave a small nod. "I noted a point zero seven second delay between the beat of your heart and the monitoring device's registration of that beat."

Kirk smirked. "Ever the science whiz," he said. "You're cold though. You should be in bed." The boy's hand had been cool in his grip. On Thelos, they'd all been cold.

Spock shifted the blanket around his frame. "Average Vulcan temperature is thirty-two point seven eight centigrade. I am within acceptable range. According to this monitor, your temperature is currently thirty-seven point five degrees. I would therefore surmise that I am not cold, but rather that you are feverish."

Kirk's smirk spread to a wide grin. "I am running a little warm, but not a fever."

Spock absorbed this fact, eager to latch onto any information on Human physiology. From his mother's occasional touches, he had been aware of the warmth Humans exuded. Now he knew the exact variation between their races.

"Have you slept?" Kirk asked. He didn't want to order Spock back to bed, especially not when he detected the boy's reluctance to leave.

"I have meditated," Spock replied.

Kirk glanced at the uncomfortable looking chair.

"Have you been here the whole time?"

"Since you were last awake."

Kirk ran a hand over his face and sighed. He felt like he had slept for at least a couple hours. Ship's night was still underway. The hush over sickbay had a disquieting effect.

Spock perceived Jim's disapproval and stepped back. "I have overstayed my welcome. I will retire to my assigned area."

Kirk suppressed a groan. "Get over here," he muttered before the dejected Vulcan could leave.

Spock paused at the curtain's edge. Turning on foot, he regarded Jim neutrally. "You wish me to stay?"

Waving Spock over, Kirk shifted as much as he dared to one side of the narrow bed. "Yeah, you can stay. Hop up." He drew the blankets aside.

Spock didn't budge. "Are you suggesting that I sit on the bed?"

"Lay on the bed, actually," Kirk said.

"That is unnecessary. I am perfectly willing to utilize the chair."

"My ass is sore just thinking about you sitting there, so come on."

Kirk thought he understood Spock's reluctance to leave. Life and death situations messed with a person's head. They'd been attached at the hip for the past three days. Thrown into a terrifying situation, Spock had been forced to rely on him and trust him. Even though they were no longer in danger, there was no one else Spock could identify with. The kid was lost in a strange new world and Kirk was the only familiar face. God help him if the regression couldn't be reversed immediately and he had to explain to Spock why he couldn't call home.

"I must decline," Spock said. "As I have previously stated, Vulcans do not casually engage with others at close proximity. The nature of our telepathy mandates a strict regard for physical boundaries." A twinge of embarrassment resurfaced as he recalled how he had touched Jim minutes ago. Without the perceived danger of the Brotherhood or the demands of a cold climate, there was no excuse for initiating contact.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Kirk said, "If I promise not to bite, does that change your mind?"

Spock quirked a questioning eyebrow.

Kirk motioned towards the down turned blanket. "It's getting cold like this."

In several fluid steps, Spock returned to Jim's side and grasped at the blanket's hem.

While the boy resettled the blanket over him, tugging and tucking, Kirk clamped down on his laughter at the mothering display. He could admit that part of him wanted to reach out and pull Spock close. After everything that had happened, he wanted tangible confirmation that Spock was really okay. Both Lieutenants Carter and Folsen had died on Thelos. Ambassador Eldridge was still a hostage. The odds had been against them at every turn.

"Still cold, but that's fine. You sit in the chair while I freeze." Kirk had used the same transparent argument in the cave when he'd hoped to sooth Spock's pride. The sudden alarm that flashed through dark Vulcan eyes suggested that Spock had taken his statement quite serious.

Spock recalled the sight of Jim's unmoving body, blue lips and white skin. The emotions he had felt at that time came over him again. Having greater control over his mind, he quickly suppressed his worry, but couldn't keep from darting a look to the monitor. Jim's temperature had dropped .25 degrees.

With a twisted rationale supporting his breach in conduct, Spock did not hesitate to use the chair and lever onto the bed. As he settled beneath Jim's blanket, familiar warmth enveloped him. His own blanket remained secure around him, ensuring an added barrier that would prevent accidental transference.

Though Spock's position was reminiscent of their past nights together, the circumstances had changed. The sterile bio-bed was not a dank cave or hollowed tree trunk. He was not in danger of hypothermia. This time, Spock huddled close for Jim's sake, not his own. He offered his warmth instead of taking it. Jim had already done too much for him, narrowly surviving as a result. The very least he could do in return was disregard unsound logic and scandalizing intimacy.

Kirk suspected that Spock hadn't appreciated finding him in what must have been a half-frozen state by the river. He didn't have the heart to boot the kid from his bedside, but he also didn't have the heart to watch the boy sit on a hard chair and keep vigil.

On his side, Kirk faced Spock. Meeting large brown eyes, he grinned wryly. "Sleep," he commanded. Spock's eyes drifted, running over his face before returning to meet his gaze. Just when the thought the boy would give some sort of argument about Vulcans not needing to sleep, Spock closed his eyes obediently. A moment later, Kirk did the same.

Thinking of Sam and how he used to crawl into bed with his brother, Kirk drifted to sleep once again.

TBC…

Author's notes: (really long)

Not beta read. My beta sort of dropped off the face of the planet. Still waiting.

Does anyone know Spock's real surname? "S'chn T'gai" is the _fanon_ creation, or so I'm told. I know there are a couple versions of his name that predate "S'chn T'gai". Is there a definitive canon name? This is "Nyota" all over again 0_o

I'm going with ruddy orange color for deoxidized Vulcan blood. I'll edit the purple out of the last chapter eventually.

I want to elaborate on why Uhura wasn't immediately at kid-Spock's side. First, I hate the cliché where Uhura is conveniently dismissed with a single line, like when Spock tells Kirk "We concluded our romantic engagement prior to our commission aboard the Enterprise" or something similar. It's going to take some growing apart for Spock and Uhura to end their relationship, so expect them to have face time together (I don't mean I'll be writing about them kissing and sexing it up, but I'm not dismissing her in the span of two lines).

Second, I realize that Uhura's absence from Spock's side in sickbay might seem strange. It's her boyfriend and a normal person would drop what they're doing and rush to sickbay. But, she's not a normal person. This is something that really peeved me in the movie. I haven't read the novel yet, but I read an article about the differences between the film and novel. Correct me if I'm wrong, but in the novel Uhura never chased after Spock and initiated that infamous kiss scene. Instead, she remained at her post doing her duty. Personally, I was appalled that the film reduced someone as awesome as Uhura to _the girl_ character. She has a couple brief moments where she gets to flaunt her intelligence (though one of those moments she was stripped down to her panties). Anyway, I prefer to imagine Uhura as a dedicated officer. Spock wouldn't have entered a relationship with her if she were the kind of woman to abandon her post in the middle of a shift.


	7. Chapter 7

Imprint

Chapter Seven

The start of alpha shift brought McCoy to Jim's station. He flagged Chapel who knowingly loaded a hypospray with a minor sedative. His eyes were glued to the chart's screen as he checked the vital readouts from gamma shift. He frowned over several instances where Jim had been awake. The readings for the last three hours were a jumble of numbers that made no sense.

He cursed under his breath when he checked the biobed's operational status and found that the alarm was now listed as disabled. It wasn't the first time Jim had tampered with his equipment. The cocky little miscreant thought that anything with an electrical current was fair game for hotwiring.

More than happy to ream Jim out, McCoy readied a few colorful statements.

"Doctor," Chapel whispered, her arm slowly falling away from where she'd parted the privacy curtain.

McCoy looked up. "What?"

Chapel gestured to the bed and McCoy's step fell short. Hazel eyes widened, horrified at the sight of Jim cozy in bed with a Vulcan.

Just visible over the blanket's hem, a head of black hair nestled against Jim's shoulder. He moved to shake Jim awake and had every intention of never letting the man live this down.

Chapel snatched at McCoy's shirtsleeve, hand dropping self-consciously the moment she had his attention. "Dr. McCoy," she said. She dropped her voice to accentuate the gravel in it. "It seems a shame to wake them."

Arching a brow, McCoy regarded Chapel with suspicion. "There ain't enough whiskey this side of the quadrant that could make this right."

"It's precious." Chapel looked surprised that McCoy didn't share her opinion.

"Precious?" McCoy said as his other eyebrow arched to join the first. He turned towards his sleeping patients and barked, "Red alert!"

Kirk jerked awake, lurching upright with an incoherent groan. He cast off the blankets and swung his legs over the side of bed, but was stopped by Bones' hands on his shoulders.

Casting a sidelong glance to Chapel, McCoy said, "Now that was precious." He squeezed Jim's shoulders to keep him in place. "Relax, kid. I was testing your reflexes." He didn't even try to hide his grin.

Bleary blue eyes glanced around. The signal light on the wall was off. There was no alert. He looked around for Spock and found him near the chair on the other side of the bed. "Morning," he said with a lazy grin. There wasn't a hair out of place on the boy's head. If he hadn't felt the weight of him against his arm moments ago, he might have thought Spock had spent the night in the chair.

Placid expression in place, Spock gave a curt nod. "Good morning," he said. Without a blanket covering him, his scrubs felt thin and loose. He clasped his hands behind his back and waited for the doctor's acknowledgment.

Jaw flexing, McCoy glanced between the two patients. "There's no morning on a starship and there's certainly no reason for it to be good."

"Good morning to you too, Bones." Kirk met Nurse Chapel's sparkling regard and nodded.

"I'm glad to see you so energetic, Captain," Chapel said. She remained at the foot of the bed, watching as McCoy worked. She still held the sedative, just in case.

McCoy's smooth jaw line and combed hair were the result of showering in his quarters as opposed to a quick sonic in sickbay. He'd spent the past few days living out of his office.

McCoy ran a scanner over Jim's hands. Everything checked out, but numbers and readouts meant nothing to him. Using the stylus from Jim's patient chart, he ran it over the kid's upturned palm.

"You feel that?"

"It tickles."

"Good. How 'bout this?"

Kirk jerked his hand away with an offended, "Ow." His glare was more sullen than angry.

"That's good too." McCoy took Jim's hand back in his own and continued his exam.

Spock observed the intimate display with disconcertion. Dr. McCoy's hands boldly touched Jim's and neither man seemed conscious of the impropriety. He fought down a blush and fixed his eyes on the floor.

Rushed footsteps approached, bringing a winded M'Benga into the already crowded station. "Dr. McCoy, it's Spock," he said in a panic.

"Finally noticed?" McCoy asked, his eyes never leaving Jim's right hand as he poked and prodded. "Can you feel that?" he asked Jim.

"Yeah," Kirk said. He flexed his hand as Bones moved onto the other one. "It doesn't feel dull. I'm sore, but no worse for the wear."

McCoy finally turned to address M'Benga. "From the looks of it, Spock's been out of bed for most of the last shift."

"I just came on," M'Benga defended. "I was looking over the read outs when I saw he'd left."

McCoy cast a quick glance to the Vulcan child who listened without comment. "I suggest you set the alarm next time."

"I assumed I wouldn't need to." M'Benga didn't need to elaborate. Vulcan logic should have been assurance enough that Spock would remain in his own bed.

McCoy grunted. "I would've assumed the same. Clearly, this isn't the Spock we know." Catching the Vulcan's eye, he added, "The Spock we know would have stayed in his own bed and followed his doctor's orders."

Kirk pulled his hand from Bones' grasp. "You know what happened down there. What did you think he'd do?"

McCoy's next reprimand crumbled beneath the steady stare of electric blue eyes. With defeat, he muttered his usual, "Dammit, Jim." The impish blond responded with a blinding smile. "I'll check the kid out," he said to M'Benga.

M'Benga would have pointed out that Vulcan physiology was his specialty, but arguing with his CMO was like arguing with a brick wall. Half the time the man wasn't listening and the other half he just didn't care. "By your leave, Dr. McCoy," he said, his tone just short of mocking.

After M'Benga had left, Kirk commented, "I don't think he likes you."

"I don't need him to like me," McCoy returned.

Revising and analyzing his actions of the past night, Spock determined that he should have notified someone of his intentions. As if on trial, he presented himself before Dr. McCoy. "I apologize for my errant behavior. While I was aware that I should remain within the bounds of my station, I was compelled to confirm the status of Captain Kirk's health."

"Spock, it's fine. Bones is all bark, no bite. You didn't do anything wrong." A second later, Kirk yanked his hand back and sucked on the pinched skin of his fingertip. He glared a little harder this time.

McCoy suppressed a smile. He patted the foot of the bed and said, "Feet next." While Jim shifted about, he instructed Chapel, "Walk Spock through the preliminary. I'll be over when I've finished with our dear captain."

"Yes, Doctor." Chapel left the sedative on the tray cart beside the bed, then waited at the curtain's opening for Spock.

When Spock didn't budge, McCoy addressed him directly. "Spock, go with Nurse Chapel. She needs more blood samples for the labs."

Spock's eyes settled on Jim for direction.

"Go for it," Kirk said. He nodded towards Chapel. "She's the best there is."

Chapel bowed her head in thanks. "I'm glad you noticed."

With a bare nod, Spock turned and followed the blonde nurse.

ooo

The seas parted for Lieutenant Nyota Uhura as she swept through the halls of the Enterprise. Long, high-bound hair swayed in tandem with her determined steps.

When she arrived in sickbay, she made a beeline for Dr. McCoy's office, but found the seat behind the cluttered desk unoccupied. Pivoting on foot, she stopped the nearest nurse and pinned her in place with a sharp look.

"Where's Dr. McCoy?"

"Bay three, with the captain," came the hasty reply.

She strode away after a nod of thanks.

It was easy to find the captain's station. All eyes were riveted on the partly concealed area. Nurses lingered near empty beds, heads bowed over charts they weren't reading.

With a perfunctory tug on her uniform, she stepped in front of the curtain's opening. She expected a bedridden Kirk to be asleep or quietly eating a meal. What she found was her captain doubled over with laughter.

Spock was the first to catch sight of the lithe figured woman. His chair was situated against Jim's bedside. He straightened in his seat. For a moment, he was at a loss for what to do with his hands. He settled on clasping them in his lap.

Kirk's laughter cut short when he spotted Uhura's red clad form.

Uhura gave a passing glance to the bed and monitors. She saw a dark haired boy, but didn't think twice. More focused on the obvious absence of Dr. McCoy, she wondered why it was so hard to pin the CMO down in sickbay?

"Captain…" Uhura trailed off. Dark eyes backtracked to the boy. Observing more than his hair, she realized he was Vulcan. Posture, ears, eyebrows, complexion, and bowl cut.

Where had he come from? The ship was lightyears from the new Vulcan colony. Thelos claimed to have had no outside contact prior to the most recent Federation envoys. Although that intelligence was now suspect since the shamans had also reported no political unrest.

The boy's warm brown eyes were all too familiar. The air rushed from Uhura's lungs. "Spock?" she said, sounding strangled.

Spock stood to greet the woman. Her features were sharp, her dark eyes perceptive, lips full like Jim's, and hair long like his mother's. He wondered how well he had known her prior to Thelos.

"I am Spock. Am I correct in assuming that you are Lieutenant Uhura?" Jim had mentioned that she would arrive at any moment.

Uhura moved closer, but stopped when the boy's narrow shoulders tensed. "What happened?"

"A lot," Kirk said. "He's fine. He's not the right age, but he's fine."

Socked feet dangled over the side of the bed, Kirk prepared to stand.

When Spock realized Jim's intentions, he moved to block the attempt. "Jim, Dr. McCoy instructed you to remain reposed."

"He also tells me to drink less coffee," Kirk said with a wink. "There are times when doctors don't know best."

Spock inclined his head and clasped his hands behind his back. He remained firmly rooted. "I am familiar with the Terran beverage once brewed from the coffee bean. It is a physical stimulant with potentially addictive properties. I find myself in agreement with Dr. McCoy in both matters."

Needing more than Kirk's easygoing attitude to put her concerns to rest, Uhura asked the one person who always gave her a straight answer. "Spock, what happened?"

Though Spock turned to face the lieutenant, he remained aware of Jim in his periphery. "I have suffered the age altering effects of a Thelosian device. The exact properties of the device remain unknown, but the result, as you can see, is quite fascinating. At present, I am thirteen years of age." Jim had encouraged him to exclude the specific number of months, days, and hours when declaring his age. Inaccuracy was illogical, but he made the concession for Jim.

The number resounded through Uhura's mind. Thirteen what? Thirteen years? She searched for some flicker recognition in Spock's expression. She found none. "Do you know me?"

"I remember only what transpired after regaining consciousness on Thelos. Prior to that, I was in my home, in Shi'Kahr, on Vulcan."

Kirk explained, "Mind, body, what he remembers up to now. He's thirteen."

Uhura nodded, though she didn't really understand. "So you don't know me?"

With a faint crease in his brow, Spock glanced to Jim. When Jim remained intent on the lieutenant, he turned back to the slender woman. "Are you not Lieutenant Uhura?"

Taking a deep breath, Uhura plastered a smile on her face. She spoke around the lump in her throat, "I am." Her smile twitched around the words. "What does Dr. McCoy say?"

Kirk realized that Uhura didn't share his complete faith that the relic's effect was reversible. "It's not permanent," he said with unwavering conviction.

Uhura nodded and had to stop herself from launching into an interrogation. "I was worried," was all she said.

A long silence fell. Even the workings of the bay became quiet. Curious crewmen held their breath and perked their ears to catch every word. It was maddening, but Uhura couldn't bring herself to speak. She just stared.

Kirk finally spoke. "Tell Spock about yourself," he suggested, recalling his own hasty introduction that first day on Thelos.

As simple as it should have been, Uhura found the task impossible. She debated whether to find Dr. McCoy instead.

Kirk wondered if Uhura needed time alone. Having to reintroduce herself to the man she loved was a sad joke.

Putting on a good show, Uhura mustered her composure and offered the ta'al. She could handle introducing herself, even if she felt panic rise in response. "Na'shaya, Spock. Kup-kah sanosh du ragel-tor."_[Greetings, Spock. It is a pleasure to meet you.]_

For a stunned moment Spock could not form a response. Then custom kicked in and the words came naturally. "Na'shaya, Lieutenant. Stariben du u'veh salasu-tor Ah'rak. Kup-ak'wikmun nash-veh." _[Greetings, Lieutenant. You speak as one native to Vulcan. I am surprised.]_

Absurdly amused at the cruel irony of the situation, Uhura said, "Vesht ma rom savensu nash-veh." _[I had a good teacher.] _

Kirk had a look of intense concentration. "Say that again," he told Uhura.

A genuine smile softened Uhura's tense expression. She repeated herself slowly.

Kirk frowned. "Savensu?"

"Teacher," Uhura said in Federation Standard.

"I was thinking 'savas-masu'." _[fruit-juice]_

Spock moved close to Jim's side and studied the man with awed curiosity. "Kup du ek'ariben svi'Vuhlkansu?" he queried in a quiet voice, as if afraid of the answer. _[You are fluent in Vulcan?]_

Kirk's answering smile was hesitant and uncertain of itself. "I can't so much speak it as I can understand what's being said."

Spock did not understand the sudden rush of pride that he felt. It was not his accomplishment, yet he was flattered by Jim's intelligence. Jim was truly a remarkable Human. "It is not uncommon to develop a greater cognitive understanding of a language than an oral acuity. Vulcan is a particularly difficult language for Humans unaccustomed to its accents and pauses."

Heat crept up Kirk's neck. He hadn't intended for his efforts to become public knowledge, certainly not before he'd become proficient enough to hold a decent conversation. He was irrationally embarrassed by Spock's approval. He bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous reflex.

Spock continued to stare, trying to interpret Jim's evasive eyes and pink cheeks. Jim appeared embarrassed, yet he did not recognize any cause for embarrassment. "You did not mention your knowledge of the language earlier. Why?"

Eager to change the subject, Kirk hastened to dismiss his most recent linguistic foray. "We had other things to worry about."

In the short month since they'd set out from Earth, Uhura had helped the captain develop his fluency in Vulcan. His secrecy about it baffled her. Kirk had a talent for languages and was largely self-taught when it came to Vulcan. He'd visited her a number of times in her department to practice conversational speaking. She'd never mentioned it to anyone because of the way Kirk always went silent or slipped into Standard when crewmembers neared them. Whatever his reservations, she encouraged his efforts.

Kirk felt Uhura's interest, as if she were trying to see inside his head. He returned to the issue at hand. "I told Spock that you and he were pretty close." Under scrutiny he clarified, "Friends. You were good friends."

Uhura silently thanked Kirk for being discreet for once in his life. The idea of telling a thirteen year old boy, Vulcan or not, that she was the boy's girlfriend just seemed perverse.

"We _are_ good friends," Uhura amended. To Spock, she said, "Whether you remember or not."

Spock blinked once, then twice, and continued to stare at Uhura with a kind of stunned confusion. When the lieutenant smiled in a manner reminiscent of his mother, he bowed his head and stared at a point on the floor just in front of the woman's boots.

While Spock's attention remained on the floor, Kirk swung around to the other side of the bed and levered down. He was sore just about everywhere, but he stood tall. His left shin radiated a sharp ache, the kind that told him the bone was still tender after grafting and regeneration.

Spock's head shot up. "Jim, you are not sufficiently recovered."

"It's a little known secret that Dr. McCoy overestimates recovery times. When he says a week, he really means a day."

Uhura studied Kirk more closely. "Captain, are you okay?" When she'd signed her shift over to alpha, her sole focus had been to find Spock and make sure he was okay. But Kirk had also been stranded on Thelos. He looked tired and gaunt, his body language drawn tight and defensive.

"I'm a little overrun." Kirk chuckled at the joke that only he appreciated.

McCoy appeared behind Uhura. "Shut up and sit down, you errant farm boy!"

Kirk's shoulders jumped in surprise. An equally startled Uhura whirled around.

McCoy gave Uhura an apologetic tip of his head. "Sorry, Lieutenant."

Finally face-to-face with the CMO, Uhura stepped aside to allow McCoy past. His broad shouldered figure was not typical of most doctors she'd known. Neither was his acerbic bedside manner.

"What can you tell me about Spock?"

McCoy studied the composed woman, reading the tension around her eyes. A man could lose himself in those eyes, or a Vulcan as the case may be. "He's healthy, if that's your worry."

Uhura re-crossed her arms and dared the doctor to tell her that her now thirteen-year-old boyfriend was healthy. "Healthy?"

"For his age," McCoy said. Attention turning to Jim, he pointed to the bed. "Your ears are working fine. I said sit."

Kirk ignored the order. He casually shifted his weight to his good leg and asked, "Any results yet?"

A colorful invective was on the tip of McCoy's tongue, but he let it go with an exasperated sigh. All too aware of Lieutenant Uhura, he summoned his manners. The poor woman probably had an ulcer by now, so he followed Jim's redirection and focused on his green-blooded patient.

"The blood samples didn't turn up anything. His tox screens are clean. No foreign antigens, viruses, infections, or contaminants. No nothing. Genetic markers check out. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's just as he should be."

Kirk pinched the bridge of his nose and willed away the throb in his left temple. Not wanting to project a defeated attitude, he dropped his hand and nodded his acceptance of the facts. "What happens next?" he asked.

McCoy's eyes strayed to Spock.

"It's fine, Bones. Just come out with it."

"We're still running samples in the labs, but we might as well be groping around in the dark. I've never heard of anything like this."

"You and me both," Kirk agreed.

"I've searched the computer banks and called in some contacts, but I won't hear back from them for at least a few days. If Command lifts the standing gag order on this mission, I can spread the word in the medical community and get some real ideas."

"You have real ideas," Kirk said.

"I'm a doctor, not a psychic. Give me more to go on and I can start to narrow things down."

"Be at the briefing and you'll get more. I know you don't want to hear this, but we could be dealing with something that's more mystic and magic than medical."

Spock's brow edged upwards, but he did not comment.

"Everything's medical, you idget."

Spock was inclined to agree with the doctor, but Jim shook his head in obvious disagreement.

"I saw what that stone did. One of the Thelosians called Spock a child spirit. Whether that's the just a bad translation or a clue, I don't know. I want you working with Uhura on this." He caught Uhura's eye. "You're our point on Thelosian culture. I want you researching the relic and any references to rejuvenation, or whatever it is that's been done to Spock."

Determination took the edge off Uhura's unease. Kirk had just given her a way of fixing this. "Consider it done," she said with a curt nod.

McCoy scowled and muttered, "A goddamn fountain of youth?" Realizing his manners a moment too late, he snapped a look of rebuke to Uhura.

Too intent on the matter at hand to have noticed Bones' distraction, Kirk said, "I'm not ruling anything out. Between the two of us, we've seen enough to know anything's possible."

When it became clear that a few cusses were the least of Lieutenant Uhura's troubles, McCoy turned his attention back to Jim. "A punk from Iowa promoted to captain, I thought I'd seen everything."

Kirk grinned. "The briefing is in an hour, give or take. I'll comm you."

"Like hell. You're parking your ass in bed and staying there 'til I say otherwise."

Kirk reflexively rubbed the back of his neck. He'd never pulled rank on Bones before, but he'd anticipated having to do it at some point. "Bones, sore muscles don't earn me another day in here."

"How about your shin that was shattered all to hell? You're listing to your right. Don't pull this crap on me."

Spock pointed out the flaw in Jim's logic. "Your protests are illogical. One cannot expect their physical form to mend faster than medically possible."

Kirk looked pale and waiflike in dark navy scrubs. He hadn't had much weight to spare before he'd gone traipsing through the woods. He felt it behind his stomach, a concave feeling like his insides were twisted around and eating themselves. He took a moment to assess the stiffness in his body. The throb in his leg was the worst of it. While he appreciated everyone's concern, he had a ship to run and a political shit storm to deal with.

"Your concerns are noted and respectfully disregarded," Kirk said. His formal tone pulled rank. "Unless there's something wrong with me that you haven't told me about, I'm going to my quarters to take a real shower and play catch up with Starfleet."

Kirk gestured for Spock and Uhura to follow him. "You two are with me. Spock you'll need to come back here for whatever tests Bones needs to run, but you can get settled in your quarters. Uhura, I don't think I even need to tell you what to do."

"No, Sir," Uhura said.

"Fantastic," Kirk muttered with dead enthusiasm. He concealed most of his limp as he moved to the curtain's opening.

McCoy slapped Jim's chart on the bed. "Captain Kirk, I didn't release you or your miniaturized first officer."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Dammit, Jim!" McCoy followed Jim through the curtain.

"Bones, it's not like it was before. I'm not just missing a few classes."

"Who're you trying to impress?" McCoy threw the question out without thinking.

The line of Kirk's shoulders stiffened and then relaxed. He gave Bones a fleeting smile. There was a vulnerable edge to his expression. "Everyone," he said.

Dammit if McCoy's chest didn't tighten at the statement. The kid had earned his place and no one had the right to say otherwise. Swallowing his bluster, he said, "Have this briefing of yours and then I'm personally escorting you back here. You're staying another night."

Kirk nodded. "Agreed."

"Go on, get then."

Uhura rarely heard McCoy's accent. He pronounced _get _as _git_. As a linguist, it aroused her curiosity. She'd have to listen more closely to pinpoint the accent's origin. She didn't comment on the byplay between her captain and the CMO. She knew they'd been inseparable at the academy, or so rumors had led her to believe. There had been more to their exchange than spoken words, but she didn't know either man well enough to translate their meaningful glances and body language.

Spock stared with open interest. Human interactions were perplexing on multiple levels. Despite Dr. McCoy's caustic remarks, the man attempted to express concern for Jim's well being. About to ask for clarification on certain points, his observations were cut short when Dr. McCoy walked away.

ooo

As they walked along a wide corridor towards the central lift, Kirk made a grand gesture to their surroundings. "Take it in, Spock. Constitution class, heavy cruiser. Seven hundred and sixty meters of perfection. Four warp cores. She makes warp eight."

"You're almost as bad as Scott," Uhura said.

"Scotty's a better engineer for it."

Despite Spock's interest in the ship, his eyes remained fixed on Jim's stride. "Jim, you are limping. I do not see the logic in leaving Dr. McCoy's care earlier than medically advised."

"It's not logical," Kirk admitted. "But it's necessary. As I was saying, Lieutenant Commander Scott is our chief engineer."

"I see," Spock said in a controlled monotone. He was not in a position of authority over Jim and could not make demands based on personal concerns. He settled for trusting Jim's judgment, though he determined to keep a close eye on the man's physical condition.

Indulging Jim's obvious pride in the ship, Spock observed the bright paneled walls. Blips and beeps filtered from around corners, crewmen passed with amicable salutes and wide eyes when they caught sight of him. His presence was an abnormality to them, an aberration. The solid weight of a warm hand came down on his shoulder. He darted Jim a look of barely concealed surprise. Before he could question the touch, the hand was gone.

"It's a lot to take in. If there's time later, I'm sure Uhura can give you a tour."

"Sir?"

"Show him your department. Better yet, stop by the labs and check out the long range sensors. It's tech you probably haven't seen."

Spock considered Jim's suggestion and came to the abrupt realization that he was fifteen years into the future. There was a universe of technological advancement and scientific discoveries to study.

"It can pick up readings from almost two parsecs away," Kirk said.

"Indeed? I have studied the mechanics of sensors capable of obtaining readouts from the distance of a single parsec. I am curious to determine how improvements have been engineered."

"I'm not a mechanic," Uhura deadpanned.

"Spock can figure it out himself. That's half the fun."

They reached Spock's quarters. Kirk gestured to the door down the hall. "My quarters are next to yours. I'll be in there."

Spock tensed, a protest on the edge of his tongue. He wanted to join Jim.

Concern evident in her voice and expression, Uhura asked, "Spock, are you okay?"

"I am well, Lieutenant."

Uhura paused before keying Spock's code. "You can call my Nyota."

"Indeed?" Spock intoned, his eyes on Jim's form disappearing into the captain's quarters.

"Of course."

"If that is your preference, I have no objections."

A funny expression overcame Uhura's face. When Spock looked to her for permission to enter his own quarters, she forced a smile and gave the go ahead.

ooo

"Hold the lift," Kirk called out. He laughed when a small hand darted out two feet lower than he would have expected. Spock held the lift for him, though Uhura's hand was already extended towards the panel to do it the proper way. "Thanks," he said and threw them both a smile.

Spock wore the standard uniform of black boots, pants, and long sleeved undershirt. The dark clothing made his skin paler by contrast. It suited him.

"I see you visited the quartermaster."

"Is it suitable?" Spock asked.

"You look good in uniform," Kirk assured. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Uhura's lips twitch.

Spock stood straighter at the compliment. When Jim attention was on the lieutenant, he discreetly observed the man's changed appearance. Jim was in uniform again, appearing clean and professional. He looked every bit a captain, despite his youth and frequent smiles.

"Going up?" Uhura asked, already selecting the bridge.

"I figure I should sit in on this meeting that the captain's having," Kirk said.

Uhura shook her head, but couldn't help a smirk. She didn't want to encourage Kirk, but even his corniest jokes had a way of hitting good notes. "I'll join you after I take Spock back to sickbay," she said.

For a thoughtful moment, Kirk stared at Spock. "He should come," he settled on.

Disbelief apparent, Uhura faced Kirk. "Captain?"

Kirk regarded Spock. "I'm going to explain what the happened on Thelos and you're the only other living witness." He looked away, feigning interest in the bright panel at the side of the door. He didn't want to reveal how much Carter and Folsen's deaths affected him.

"Dr. McCoy needs to run more tests," Uhura said.

"He's already on the bridge."

Though Uhura wanted Spock safe in sickbay surrounded by doctors all working to fix him, Kirk had a point.

Spock studied Jim's profile. As if sensing him, Jim turned and caught his gaze. He expected the smile he received, but was surprised by the hand that reached out and grasped his shoulder. He looked at the hand and then Jim.

"Are you up for it?" Kirk asked.

"My participation in the proceedings is logical."

Kirk made his meaning more pointed. "The bridge crew knows you. I can't predict how they'll react, but if you'd be more comfortable somewhere else, you don't have to come."

"I am not affected by the feelings of others, nor do I seek to avoid an encounter based on personal comfort."

Kirk gave Spock's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Got it. I'll stop questioning what you can handle." If Spock could handle being shot at, he could certainly handle a few bug-eyed stares from the crew.

The lift doors opened and Jim's hand disappeared. Spock's shoulder felt cold in its absence.

Walking onto the bridge of the Enterprise was like walking into a sound proof room. There was a sudden hush of emotion. Spock surveyed the area, tempted to lower his shields and see what he picked up. Out of respect, he kept his mind guarded. He realized that the reason for such muted projections was due to the intenseness of everyone's focus. Humans, a species notorious for broadcasting their every emotion and never ordering their thoughts, were currently bent over consoles and studying screens with the same strict attention that Vulcans practiced.

Spock felt something akin to shame. He continued to harbor false expectations that were clearly based on deficient information. Humans were a constant surprise. Jim most of all.

With an even stride that sent a sharp spike up his leg, Kirk walked onto the bridge. He waved everyone back in their seats when they stood at attention.

Yeoman Rand approached and handed him a datapad. As always, her blonde hair was woven intricately atop her head.

"It's good to have you back, Captain," Rand said.

"And miss all the paperwork you give me?" Though Kirk's words teased, his expression was sober and his eyes intent on the datapad. He nodded to himself as he read.

"Everyone else is gathered in the ready room," Rand added.

"Good work. Thank you."

"Captain," Rand called to Kirk's back. When he turned, she gestured to the boy. "Is that?"

Kirk drew himself straighter. Spock was too intent on the expanse of stars outside the view screen to have noticed Rand's reaction. "You're already acquainted with Commander Spock."

Rand shot Uhura a horrified look. "He's…"

"Still your superior officer," Kirk said.

"Of course, Sir. I didn't mean-"

"I know, Rand, relax. Feel free to spread the word."

Rand's shoulders slouched. "Yes, Captain." The captain was impossible sometimes.

In the time since Vulcan's destruction, the senior bridge officers had developed a tendency to gravitate towards one another. In a crowded mess room, they sought each other out, unthinking and uncaring that they didn't know each other that well.

The ready room's viewless design was darker than most rooms. It hosted a long black table and array of high backed chairs. The walls were a muted tan that made Kirk depressed.

At the far end of the room by a large panel mounted on the wall, Kirk found Sulu, Chekov, Scott, and Bones standing in a circle. A middle-aged woman with short-cropped brown hair sat alone at the table immersed in her datapad. Lieutenant Hannity was Spock's replacement as science officer.

Everyone snapped to attention. At Kirk's dismissal, they broke apart and took their seats. Hannity set her datapad down.

Word of Spock's condition had already reached the core officers. Scott had been in the transporter room when Kirk had returned with the Vulcan halfling. Sulu and Chekov hadn't seen Spock yet, which explained their less than discreet stares.

Kirk took his place at the head of the table. He gestured for Spock to sit at his right. Bones was already to his left.

Spock felt distinctly out of place when he settled in the oversized chair. He perched on the edge, back straight and hands clasped in his lap. He kept his eyes intent on the tabletop.

Fingers tapping over the onyx surface, a square shaped monitor came to life. Kirk logged in to his panel and sent his report to each person, screens lighting up in front of each of them.

"Has everyone had time to review my report?" Kirk asked.

The collective of nods told Kirk that everyone had done their homework.

Kirk opened the floor. "Are there any updates to add?"

Slouched back in his chair, arms crossed, McCoy said, "As far as fixing your first officer goes, we're no closer than we were an hour ago."

Kirk had figured as much.

"Are we meaning to rescue Ambassador Eldridge?" Chekov asked. He brushed a stray curl from his forehead.

Part of Kirk wanted to shrug his shoulders and say that the ambassador had chosen his own fate. It would save him a lot of trouble. Most of Kirk prayed Eldridge was still alive.

As Jim and the others discussed the situation, Spock began reading Jim's report. Each line was more distressing than the last. Jim had not informed him of their brief captivity and subsequent escape. The statistical improbability of a successful escape was alarming. Had Spock truly allowed Jim to undertake such a dangerous endeavor? He could not imagine doing so. More troubling yet was the lack of detail involved. Jim did not specify their means of escape. Three days of their struggle to evade recapture and death had been diminished to short excerpt.

'_From an unknown region north-east of Belmar, Lieutenant Carter, Commander Spock, and myself made our way south-west to the river. Lieutenant Carter perished en route at the hands of an unidentified Thelosian rebel. Upon arrival at the river, Commander Spock and myself were fired upon by rebels from a nearby village. At that time, Lieutenant-Commander Scott and Ensign Chekov successfully determined our location and transported us aboard the Enterprise."_

Beside Spock, Uhura leaned in and asked, "Are you okay?"

Spock had been glaring at the report. Once conscious of his slip, he resumed a neutral expression and said, "I am well."

Reddish brown hair in disarray and a finger sized smear of grease at his temple, it was clear Scott had come straight from engineering. He jabbed a finger at the table in emphasis as he said, "We've mixed with business we've no business mixing with, ye ken?"

The mere mention of the Prime Direction made Kirk's headache flare. "We're not here to hash out the Prime Directive. We couldn't have made our concerns any clearer before the mission began. Let's focus on what happens next."

"Nothing happens next," Sulu said, dark eyes unwavering. "Starfleet doesn't want us doing anything until they figure it out."

McCoy sat forward. "So we're stuck here?"

"Essentially, yes," Kirk confirmed. He longed for the days when the Enterprise would be too far away from Command Central to receive orders back and forth so quickly. He would be able to use his own judgment instead of consulting the Admirals and a panel of agenda pushing diplomats. "But Eldridge and the Brotherhood aren't our only problem."

"Aye, it's the tot beside ye. That's yer concern, isn't it now?"

Spock felt curious stares, but kept his eyes on Jim.

The absence of Kirk's smile spoke volumes on how he wanted everyone to treat the situation. "By now you've all heard."

Never one to let a dragon rest, Scott said, "Thirteen is it?" His smirk was lopsided. "I'd've wagered ten."

"Am I to estimate your age as well?" Spock asked, a knee jerk reaction bred by years of having his underdeveloped body made a point of mockery by his schoolmates.

A stunned silence fell.

Scott was the first to break the stillness as he gave an undignified, but wholly delighted guffaw. "I like him," he declared.

McCoy almost looked proud of Spock's comment and couldn't quite hide his smile.

Everyone else was too shocked to laugh.

"I think that's enough discussion," Kirk said. He sat forward in his chair and folded his hands atop the table. "I'd like to thank Lieutenant-Commander Scott and Ensign Chekov for saving my ass. You'll get your commendations when this is over."

Chekov sputtered something in Russian, appearing stricken and then immeasurably pleased.

Scott just sat back and crossed his arms, as if he'd expected nothing less. He knew Kirk was the kind of man who appreciated a good rescue.

Head bowed for a solemn moment, Kirk continued, "I'd also note that Lieutenants Folsen and Carter performed admirably in the line of duty. And Spock did more than his fair share down there." When he lifted his head, he looked to Scott. "Scotty, I'll need you as my second in command. I hate to pry you away from Engineering, but since the engines are running fine, I think you can be spared."

"Aye, Sir."

"Lieutenant Hannity, you've already assumed responsibility of the science department, so you're already on task with Dr. McCoy. Figure out how to fix Spock's age and do it yesterday."

"Yes, Sir," Hannity said.

Kirk gave one last passing glance around the table. "Dismissed," he said.

McCoy and Uhura remained behind as the others filed out. Spock wasn't about to go anywhere without Jim, so he sat and contemplated whether an apology was in order for his remark to Lieutenant-Commander Scott.

"Oh captain, my captain," McCoy said as he stood from his seat. "Get your ass back to sickbay."

"This is why everyone says you're the most pleasant person to be around."

McCoy crouched in front of Jim, his scanner already out. "How's the leg?"

Kirk swiveled around and let Bones hike his pant leg up. "Sore," he admitted.

"You might've fractured the new graft."

Kirk set a hand on Bones' broad shoulder. When the doctor looked up, concern evident in hazel eyes, he said, "I'm sorry."

McCoy yanked Jim's pant leg back down. "I'm a doctor, not a babysitter. Can I trust you to stay on bed rest?"

"If I can trust you not to run my yeoman off when she brings me updates from Starfleet."

"I don't want her coming in at all hours waking you up."

"I have a job to do."

"And it's my job to tell your job to fuck off while you're still recovering." McCoy was too worked up to care about his language in front of a lady, though he knew his daddy was rolling over in his grave.

Kirk smirked. "If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask."

Anger boiling over, McCoy shot upright. "Dammit, man! Can you at least act like you care about yourself?"

Unable to have this conversation in front of Uhura and Spock, Kirk avoided it with another glib remark. "That's why I have you."

"You have five minutes before I have someone from security haul your ass in." McCoy stalked away.

"Captain," Uhura began, not knowing if it was her place to comment. Her heart went out to Dr. McCoy who obviously cared a great deal about Kirk.

"It's fine, Uhura." Standing, Kirk took a tentative step with his left leg and winced. As usual, Bones was right. He'd need another graft and osteo-regeneration. He made his way to the door.

Uhura didn't know if Kirk had meant that it was okay to speak on the matter or if she should drop it. Taking a chance, she called out to the captain's back, "He's a good friend."

Spock trailed behind Kirk, eyes on the injured leg.

Kirk smiled, but it appeared wane. "That's the problem," he said.

Uhura hadn't expected an answer. "Sir?"

Kirk was already at the door when he elaborated, "Bones has a bigger heart than most. It makes him a good doctor."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Not when your best friend has a job that puts him in danger."

Uhura suddenly realized the meaning behind the tension she'd detected between the two friends.

"Time will tell," Kirk said with a look that betrayed just how many worries he carried. A captain's burden was like Atlas. He limped his way out of the room.

ooo

While Uhura detoured to the communications department with Spock, Kirk was back in sickbay.

Missives from Rand were a near constant as he finished filing paperwork and compiled his final report. He'd begun putting together a statement to deliver to the Brotherhood, which Command wanted to review. Not for the first time, he resented Starfleet's strict oversight. He hadn't even left drydock from Earth's starbase when Komack had checked in on him. Considering that his very first mission had devolved into a nightmare and two dead officers, he couldn't blame them.

If Thelos went public, he'd be on the chopping block for breaking the Prime Directive. Never mind that he wasn't the one to make first contact or that the orders had come from Starfleet. He was the one who'd lost two men on a planet that a Federation council would say he had no business being on.

It was already the end of beta shift when Bones came around and asked when Spock would show up.

Kirk realized how much time had passed. "Let me comm Uhura."

"I got it," McCoy said and motioned Jim back down.

Hair tousled from repeatedly running his fingers through it, Kirk was the picture of overworked. Still in uniform, he sat cross-legged atop the covers of the biobed. Thin-framed glasses adorned his face, making his eyes appear larger through the lenses. Reading glasses at his age should have been a joke, but he'd worn them all his life. He pushed them to the top of his head and ran his thumb and forefinger over tired eyes. Bones returned a moment later.

Itching to pull out his scanner, McCoy crossed his arms to avoid temptation. He had to keep telling himself that Jim was safe. His frequent passes through bay three weren't strictly out of professional concern.

McCoy reported what Uhura had told him. "He's in his quarters, meditating or some such nonsense. Said she'd grab him and bring him down."

Kirk nodded and moved to reclaim his glasses, but went suddenly still.

"What's wrong?" McCoy hurried closer. Jim had gone pale.

"He's alone in his quarters?" Kirk asked.

"That's what the lady said."

Kirk scrambled from the bed, heedless of the datapad that clattered to the floor. He took a bare second to tear his glasses from his head and toss them to the nearby chair.

"Jim, what the hell's going on?"

"Not now," Kirk called over his shoulder. Ignoring his leg, he sprinted out of sickbay.

As he barreled down corridors, decorum forgotten as crewmen jerked hasty salutes and watched him fly past, he arrived in time to see Uhura reach Spock's door.

Torn between worry and anger, Kirk spoke harsher than he meant to when he addressed Uhura. "Lieutenant, you were to show him your department, not leave him alone."

Uhura stepped back, clearly surprised by Kirk's tone. "He needed to meditate."

"Does he also need unfettered access to a computer?"

"I don't see the problem."

"He doesn't know about Vulcan," Kirk hissed.

It took a moment for Uhura to make the connection. "Oh god," she said, then repeated, "Oh my god." Hand covering her forehead, she swore a mean streak in Orion Prime. Once finished, she pinned Kirk with an accusing look. "You didn't tell him?"

"Because that was my first concern while being shot at," Kirk returned. "I didn't know how long he'd be like this."

Uhura was livid and a little bit nauseous. She eyed the closed door like it was a bomb. "Do you think he knows?"

"By now, yes." At any age, Spock was curious to a fault.

Uhura paced away, muttering under her breath in a language Kirk didn't recognize. When she paced back, she asked, "Do you want me to handle it?"

"No," Kirk said, stopping himself from pointing out that she'd already done enough by leaving him alone. This wasn't her fault. Spock would have found out eventually. "Let's just see first."

The room was dim, the cloying scent of incense still heavy in the air. Spock sat behind his desk, dwarfed by it. His pale features were cast in the eerie glow of the clear paneled monitor. He didn't move or acknowledge Kirk and Uhura's presence.

Kirk approached slowly. "Spock?" he called. The boy didn't even blink. He just kept staring at screen in front of him.

Once close enough, Kirk saw what was onscreen. Starfleet's public report on the Battle of Vulcan. The chilling sight of a planet collapsing in upon itself was split screened beside the text. It was an image that the Enterprise's sensors had captured, an irony Kirk hadn't considered when suggesting Spock study them.

With a flick of his hand, Kirk shut the monitor off. Spock continued to stare through the now empty screen, his eyes unfocused.

Kirk crouched beside Spock's chair. Searching for what to say, he bowed his head and smoothed back his hair. When he looked up again, he was taken back to the academy, to his academic hearing. Spock had turned to face him, his eyes hard and cold.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," was all Kirk could think to say.

"Vulcan is gone," Spock said. "My parents?" The probability that his parents had perished was high. He had yet to review the list of survivors or search his parents' names. If he had conclusive findings that his parents were gone, then the hope he currently held would also die.

"Your dad's fine." Before Kirk could tell Spock where his father was, the boy followed with another question.

"What of my mother?"

Eyes downcast, Kirk floundered for any kind of response that would make the truth less devastating.

"Kirk," Uhura said, her tone asking him to stop. She didn't know what she wanted from the captain. She didn't want him to say anything else, but she knew she couldn't bring herself to break the news.

Kirk made himself form the words. "She didn't make it. I'm sorry."

Spock stood from his seat. "You failed to inform me of the state of my home world."

"I hoped to reverse the regression before it came to that."

Spock's hands fisted the material of his pants. "A logical endeavor, but ultimately flawed. You based your decision on the belief that I would experience an emotional response to the withheld information. I ask that you revise your understanding of what it means to be Vulcan and correct future behavior."

"I'll remember that." Kirk cleared his throat. "Why don't we comm your dad?"

"To what end?" There was a sharp edge to Spock's voice, like he was seconds from lashing out.

"He can tell you what happened. And I think he'd appreciate knowing what's going on with you right now."

"I require meditation at this time."

Kirk studied Spock for a moment, weighing his options. "Okay," he said. If Spock needed alone time, that's exactly what he'd get. There was no point in restricting computer access anymore.

Kirk made his way to the door, but stopped when he realized Uhura hadn't followed. He motioned for her to join him, but she shook her head.

Spock leveled his cold stare on the lieutenant. "I require solitude, Lieutenant Uhura. I request that you leave."

Having been self-assured that Spock would want her there, Uhura didn't immediately realize that she'd been dismissed. When it clicked, she strode out of Spock's quarters at a near jog, shoulder knocking into Kirk as she passed him.

With a defeated sigh, Kirk said to Spock, "When you're done, come to sickbay. You remember the way?"

"Affirmative."

Lingering in the doorway, Kirk rubbed his neck. After a long moment of hesitation, he said, "Tushah nash-veh k'du. Kup du ri sa'awek." _[I grieve with thee. You are not alone.]_

Kirk stepped into the hall and let the door close behind him.

Face to the wall, Uhura stood across the hallway. As if speaking to herself, she said, "He's so different. I don't even recognize him."

Kirk approached warily. "You recognized him when you first saw him."

"Because he looks the same," Uhura snapped, making her impatience with the entire situation known.

Kirk thought it was the reverse. Spock looked different but acted the same. Then again, he didn't know Spock like Uhura did.

Uhura sighed. "I should get some sleep." It was already gamma shift and she'd been pulling double duty since the Enterprise had lost contact with the landing party.

"Go on then."

"Will you keep an eye on him?"

"What do you think I've been doing?"

It occurred to Uhura that amid all Kirk's acknowledgements of everyone else's work, his own efforts had gone unsung. "Thank you, Captain. For bringing him back." She didn't need to calculate the odds to know that they'd been disparagingly low. Kirk had put himself on the line to protect Spock. Two officers were dead. She was beyond grateful that Spock wasn't counted among them.

"I did what I could," Kirk said. Guilt surfaced as he revisited each moment and wallowed in self-doubt. Had he done everything he could? If he'd done more, would Folsen and Carter still be alive?

"I'll send word to Ambassador Sarek. What should I tell him?"

"Start by telling him that Spock's safe. Avoid mission details. You know the protocol and he's been in this business longer than you and me combined, so he won't bother asking. Our main concern is having him talk to Spock about Vulcan."

It was no secret that Ambassador Sarek had talked Spock down the last time.

With a grim demeanor, Uhura took her leave. Kirk lingered outside Spock's door for a few moments before hobbling his way back to sickbay, prepared for Bones' lecture on hurting his leg yet again.

ooo

It was late when Spock finally made his way to sickbay. The corridors were dim with artificial night, lit along the footpaths. The ship felt empty. Emotions ran quiet like they had on the bridge. It was tranquil, but hollow.

Spock strode into bay three, past the knowing look of a nightshift nurse. Forgoing his own station, he approached Jim's. He did not bother with excuses or try to understand his compulsion.

Jim was asleep. The chair had not been moved, though it now hosted a pile of datachips, a curious pair of optical lenses, and a datapad.

He debated whether to wake Jim. It was selfish to do so.

"Jim," he called, unable to feel guilty for his self-indulgence. He felt entitled to it.

Kirk stirred and caught sight of Spock. He sat up as if hearing a klaxon. Uhura had checked on Spock before finally turning in. The boy had still been meditating. Now Spock was at his bedside, looking small and confused, as if he needed something but didn't know what it was or how to ask for it.

Doing what his older brother had always done for him, Kirk pulled aside the blanket and offered what little space there was on the bed.

Spock took a moment to remove his boots. Jim had shed his uniform for less formal sleeping attire; a grey t-shirt and black flannel pants. At that moment, proper sleepwear was of little concern to Spock.

Like the last time, Spock used the chair as a step, careful to avoid the clutter. He did not protest when Jim pulled him closer. Instead, he shifted until his head rested against the man's shoulder. The warmth of Jim's body reminded him of home… of his mother.

"Vulcan is gone," Spock said, his voice cracked with hours of disuse. He had the irrational hope that repeating the words would change their meaning.

"Fai-tor nash-veh. I'yuk-tor," Kirk whispered. _[I know. Now sleep.]_

TBC…

Author's note:

I've gone back and forth on this chapter. The tone, mood, whether certain points were plausible or necessary. So please, put me out of my misery and tell me what you think.

Plus, you'd save a fairy. But mostly, you'd be making me happy. ^_^

Sorry about the random Vulcan thrown in there. If you spot an error, feel free to correct me. It won't be a common occurrence. I just wanted to establish a stronger connection between Spock and Kirk. I didn't allude to it too heavily, but I will eventually bring up Kirk's reasons for learning Vulcan in the first place. It won't become relevant until much later. And no, Kirk hasn't been harboring a secret crush on his first officer and hoping to ask him out on a date in his native tongue.

It's been a long wait and I'm sorry to tell you that I'm a horrible updater. Anyone waiting on my next chapter of Defining Love can tell you that. The only upside is that my chapters are usually a decent length.


	8. Chapter 8

Beta read by Ivysska. Thank you so much! ^_^

Imprint

Chapter Eight

Ambassador Sarek's solemn visage stared at Kirk across the vid screen. "It has been approximately five days since our last communication and you report no significant progress in reversing my son's condition."

"No, Ambassador." Kirk almost apologized, but after Sarek's last lecture on the illogic of expressing regret, he held back. "From a medical standpoint, he's healthy."

"I am aware, as you have repeated this fact a number of times. Four to be exact, with variations in terminology."

Mouth forming a tight line, Kirk prayed for patience. "I'm more concerned with how he's coping."

"Perhaps your lack of progress errs from misappropriated concern. If you focused less on his acceptance of Vulcan's loss and more on his physical alteration, you might have something of significance to report by our next communication."

Kirk had exhausted excuses for the Vulcan ambassador long ago. He'd tried to tell himself that the man was just being a concerned parent. Spock was his only child, and only family for all Kirk knew. It wasn't working anymore. He was losing his patience. The worst part of dealing with Sarek was that he couldn't detect a shred of animosity in the man. Sarek was simply stating the facts. The bluntness of the delivery just happened to grate on his nerves.

With his last thread of patience holding firm, he explained, "It stands to reason that the only way we can change Spock back is with the Thelosian relic. Until I can get my hands on that device, Spock might be stuck like this. My science and medical departments are dedicated to finding anything that'll help, but in the meantime, I'm still concerned about how he's dealing with Vulcan."

After a long moment, Sarek bowed his head. "That is logical."

Kirk sent up a silent hallelujah.

"Your efforts are adequate. As always, I ask to remain apprised of further developments. My security clearance has been instated."

"I already sent you the mission report."

Sarek glanced downward as his hands moved over the console. "Indeed. It has arrived."

"Do you want me to put Spock on?"

"Yes."

Kirk craned a look around his command chair. "Lieutenant, transfer the ambassador to Spock's quarters."

"Transferring," Uhura said.

"I'll talk to you again soon, Ambassador," Kirk said in parting.

"Live long and prosper, Captain Kirk."

The screen went blank. Kirk assumed Spock had picked up. He slumped back in his seat, taking a moment to relax stiff muscles before he sat straight again. He retrieved his datapad from his lap and read over the proposal he'd been drafting all morning.

ooo

Upon seeing Spock, Sarek understood Captain Kirk's concerns. Grey circles underscored dark brown eyes. Amanda's eyes. Tired and lost and far away from a home that no longer existed. "You appear fatigued."

"I have found meditation difficult," Spock said.

"Understandable." Sarek hesitated in making his next proposal. The inclination to tend to his son's needs conflicted with his responsibility as ambassador. Starfleet had granted him clearance based on his diplomatic status, not because he was father to an officer involved. "If Captain Kirk is agreeable, I will arrange for an adept to rendezvous with the _Enterprise_ and aid your meditations."

"That is unnecessary, Father."

Sarek would not insist on the arrangement. There was little point unless Spock was willing. "Very well. The offer will remain should you find it necessary at a later date."

"Your efforts are appreciated."

Sarek remained silent for a long moment. He chose his words carefully, mindful of the sentiment they conveyed. "I would do all that is within my means, Spock. You are my son."

Spock barely had time to process his father's words before the man raised his hand in parting.

"I will speak with you again in three days' time. Live long and prosper, my son."

"Peace and long life, Father," Spock replied, wonderment sneaking past his impassive expression.

ooo

Kirk forded through the maze of Scotty's engineering department. He caught sight of Keenser squatting atop an inter-matrix chamber. "Lieutenant Keenser," he called to grab the engineer's attention. "I'm looking for Scotty."

Inky black eyes seemed to laugh. "Take the next right, sir."

"Carry on," Kirk said with a wave of his hand.

Kirk found Scotty and Chekov arguing in front of a long screen panel on the wall in the Scotsman's office. He recognized the satellite imaging of Thelos. On another screen, a closer image displayed the region around Belmar. The river he'd plunged into was little more than a silver vein. Portions of the map were shaded in red. The rest was the color of a purple bruise. If his mission on Thelos hadn't turned into a clusterfuck, he would have remembered it as the purple planet.

"I could use good news, Scotty," Kirk said, announcing his presence.

Mid-tirade, Scotty gaped at the captain. "Good news is hard to come by these days, Cap'n."

Chekov's sour expression turned plaintive at the sight of the captain. "Ve vere discussing the possibility of scattering the sonar."

Scotty cut the air with each word to emphasize his point. "And if ye scatter the ping, it'll come back as a garbled mess."

"Nyet," Chekov said. "I am knowing how to fix that."

Kirk approached the nearest console, the image of Belmar. He pointed to areas shaded in red. "What's with the red?"

"That would be where we haven't mapped yet. Pinging sound waves is a slow going process, ye ken."

"Faster if ve scatter the sound."

"Inaccurate if we scatter the sound."

Kirk was left to make the final call. He gave Scotty an apologetic look. "Faster is better. I trust Chekov to get you an accurate reading. We've still got a man down there." And two corpses, his mind added.

Scotty crossed his arms. "Aye, a man who might get overlooked when inaccurate readings sketch over the rebel's base."

Kirk had already been over the older maps. Nose nearly pressed to the screen, he studied the plain like he did a chessboard. Close at first, then he took a step back. He tapped a finger to a region northeast of the city. The console marked his touch with a black dot. "Here," he said. "Give it a wide radius, but focus here." That was where the rebels had been marching him. He could only estimate the placement, but there was too much shaded in red and it had already been five days. Command wouldn't even think of letting him attempt a rescue mission unless he knew exactly where Eldridge was being held.

"Aye, that's what I was afraid of. I've been pinging that area from the get-go. There're less trees mucking it up, but the rocks make the readings screwy. Too many uneven bits and wacky elevations."

Kirk nodded. The terrain had been difficult to navigate by foot; rises and falls, gorges and boulders. It would be infinitely worse along the valley's ridge. "Keep at it." Sonar was a primitive last resort, but it worked. He continued to study the incomplete composite. "Chekov, call in your replacement for your shift. I want you here with Scotty. You two are our best hope of getting the ambassador back alive."

Both men straightened. Chekov even snapped a salute.

"Yes, sir."

"Aye, we'll get that sniveling politician back for ye."

Kirk grinned. "That's all I ask."

ooo

From engineering, Kirk made his way to sickbay. He caught Bones coming out of his office. "Just the man I wanted to see."

"Lucky me." McCoy's wayward hair and heavy eyes told of his night spent reading more medical journals than he could spit at. There was nothing even remotely similar to Spock's condition. Websites had tagged his cache of key search words and had begun to advertise beauty creams that promised younger looking skin.

Smile dim and eyes sober, Kirk said, "I'd like your advice."

McCoy gave Jim a considering look. "This official business?"

"Unofficially official. I'm worried about Spock."

"Personal, then," McCoy said. Jim doted over that boy like a mother hen. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Bones, I'm asking for help. Don't make me regret it."

That stung. McCoy scowled and surveyed the bay. He took Jim's arm and steered him away from his office. "I was in surgery and missed lunch. I'm betting you just plain skipped it."

ooo

Kirk and McCoy were soon seated across from each other at a small table in the corner of the mess hall. It was after the usual lunch hour, but still moderately crowded.

McCoy started the conversation by saying, "We're doing all we can, Jim."

"I know. That's not what this is." Kirk shuffled the rice on his tray around with his fork. "I was thinking maybe Spock should see someone, like a therapist."

Water half raised to his lips, McCoy froze. "What?"

"You've got the psyche degree. Am I overreacting?"

Without taking a sip, McCoy set his water back down. "No," he said. "I just didn't think you'd want to plan for the long term."

"I don't, but it could be weeks before Command pulls their heads out of their asses."

McCoy laughed and dug into his meal. The spaghetti was half decent. "It's only been five days now. Therapy might be jumping the gun."

"He's not talking to Uhura." Kirk mounded his rice back up. "He's holed up in his room. I don't think he's sleeping."

"What makes you think he'll talk to a complete stranger if he won't open up to Uhura?"

Kirk shrugged, eyes still on his rice. "It doesn't have to be an actual therapy session. I thought you or Dr. Stayfield would know of something."

McCoy was only mildly surprised that Jim knew the name of the ship's psychologist. "Like what? And quit playing with your food. Just eat it."

After swallowing a dutiful mouthful of rice, Kirk said, "There are ways of dealing that don't involve someone asking leading questions and humming sympathetically. He needs some kind of outlet."

"I'll talk to Dr. Stayfield, see what she thinks."

"Thanks."

"You owe me," McCoy said, jabbing his fork at Jim. "That woman's been trying to psychoanalyze me from day one."

"I could save her the trouble. I know you're a crazy bastard."

"Pot meet kettle, you infant." The snarky reply drew a genuine laugh from Jim that made McCoy smile.

ooo

Two days later, Kirk had the final piece of the puzzle that would convince Command to consider his plan of action. Scotty and Chekov had located the base camp. They were still running coordinates, afraid of overlooking something critical, like a giant missile silo or some crop circles.

Kirk was caught unaware by Admiral Pike's call. "Patch it through," he told the comm officer on beta shift. He felt the need to perch on the edge of his seat. He tugged his shirt to straighten any wrinkles. A button on the console's pad lit up and the screen flashed that he had an incoming call. He accepted it, curious and anxious at the reason behind the admiral's call.

Gunmetal eyes traveled over Kirk's features. Pike couldn't possibly see much more than his face, but he still felt laid bare. "Admiral Pike," he said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Pike smirked. "I heard about you through the grapevine." Komack had been overeager to relate news of Kirk's failure.

"That took longer than I expected. I'm losing my touch."

Smirk widening, Pike's eyes crinkled with warmth. "I also read the proposal you sent. A special ops retrieval. It's a hell of a read. It'd be a hell of a thing to pull off, too."

"You've also read the mission reports, I assume," Kirk said. He waited for Pike's answering nod before he continued. "We're making headway on finding the remaining encampments. We can't get a signal off Eldridge, but we can still cut through the interference enough to transport someone if they have a locater beacon. It can work."

"I agree. Command agrees too. The problem is that you don't just want to drop in and get Ambassador Eldridge out. You want to keep a team there to find something that the Federation can't sanction you to take."

"Sir, it may be the only way to help Spock."

Pike held up a hand. "I understand that, son. You're stuck between a rock and a hard place." He cleared his throat and edged closer to the screen. "Change your proposal. Leave out any mention of that relic."

"Sir-"

"Listen to me," Pike said. "Change the proposal. Command isn't going to approve it unless it's changed." Blue eyes were dangerously bright, anger ready to lash out. "Now, you also said that Eldridge and the relic would probably be in the same location."

Kirk's anger dissolved, replaced by understanding.

"Get Eldridge. For all anyone knows, the ambassador was carrying the thing in his pocket and you couldn't possibly have known when you brought him aboard."

Laughter escaped Kirk and he had to take a moment to get it all out. "Starfleet doesn't need to worry half as much about me as they do you."

"This conversation never happened."

Kirk saluted.

"Be careful, son. Whatever happens, it's on you."

"I know."

The lines in Pike's face deepened. He nodded, satisfied that Kirk understood the weight of the situation.

No sooner had the screen returned to its usual clear panel than Kirk's door chimed. "Come in."

The door slid open and revealed Uhura. She stopped in the middle of the room. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, have a seat." Kirk realized too late that scattered datachips littered the single chair in front of his desk. "Just move those."

Uhura ignored the chair and opted to stand. The lines of her mouth were tight with worry. Hair pleated into a long rope draped over her shoulder. "Spock's session with Dr. Stayfield didn't go well."

The air chilled in Kirk's lungs. "How bad?"

At a loss for what to do with her hands, Uhura clasped and unclasped them before she gripped the edge of the captain's desk. "He threw a chess set against the wall."

"Is the doctor okay?" A violent outburst from Spock was not unknown to Kirk. He almost raised a hand to his throat in memory.

"She's fine. He wasn't aiming at her, just the wall."

Kirk caught a knowing look in Uhura's eye. "You know something?"

"Spock used to play chess with his mom. It was their ritual. At the academy, every Friday night, they played over a live feed."

Kirk deflated. A sigh hissed past his teeth. "Did Stayfield know this?"

"No. She had the set there because she uses it in sessions sometimes. She wasn't using it for Spock, but he saw it and snapped."

Hands steepled, Kirk bowed his head and appeared to be in prayer. He hated that he felt burdened by this latest stunt. He wished he had more patience, but he was stretched thin. Recalling the look of utter hopelessness on Spock's face when he'd come to him in sickbay, he knotted together his frayed edges and mustered the energy to deal with this latest problem. "What does Stayfield suggest?"

Realizing that this might be a longer conversation than she'd anticipated, Uhura cleared the chair and set the gathered datachips on the captain's already cluttered desk. Her eyes absorbed the mountain of reading material. Scotty had been promoted to Acting First Officer, but was so consumed with finishing the composite of Thelos that she doubted he had time for anything else. The captain had no one helping him, no first officer to delegate work to.

Suddenly, Uhura felt guilty for running to Kirk with news of the therapy incident. The captain had enough to deal with. "Stayfield suggested a journal log. She didn't expect Spock to open up, but she'd hoped to gauge his temperament. Being that he's Vulcan, she thinks he needs to deal with his grief alone."

Kirk scoffed and rubbed his temple. "How's he doing now?"

Uhura's own grief reared its head when she remembered Spock's cold gaze. The boy had ignored her, even as she trailed him back to his quarters. He'd slipped inside his room without so much as a backwards glance. "I don't know. He won't talk to me."

"At all?" Kirk couldn't hide his surprise. Spock had been limited with words, but still willing to talk to him.

"Not after I came to get him from Stayfield's office."

"I'm sorry," Kirk offered. Uhura was still shaken by Spock's sharp dismissal the night he'd unearthed news of Vulcan's destruction.

A winsome smile broke the heavy moment. Uhura held firm to her composure. "It's not really Spock. Not the man I know."

"Uhura," Kirk began, not certain the lieutenant should build her hopes around such a unsteady belief, "who do you know that wasn't moody at thirteen? Can you imagine Bones at that age?"

This earned a laugh. When the moment passed, her smile fell. "Will you see him?"

"Of course." Kirk hadn't seen Spock since lunch the previous day.

Uhura stood and straightened her skirt. "I'm meeting with Scotty to go over the structure of the base. I don't know what he thinks I'll know about it."

"You're the expert on Thelosian culture. Thelosians built the base."

"I'm not an architect," Uhura said.

"I think you'll surprise yourself."

With a curt nod, Uhura took her leave. She was almost at the door when the captain called her back.

"Uhura, is Stayfield's chessboard beyond repair?"

Puzzled by the question, Uhura leveled a quizzical look across the room. A familiar determination had overcome the captain's face. It was a look that promised the moving of mountains. "The top tier broke off, but she can probably fix it."

"Good, thanks."

Still confused, but already late for her meeting in engineering, Uhura left without questioning the captain.

ooo

The air in Spock's room was thick and perfumed with incense. He sat in front of his fire-pot. Grim determination kept him in place.

The sharp chirrup at his door startled him. He cast the door a baleful look, irrationally blaming his caller for his own failure to concentrate. He was considering ignoring the call when the comm panel beside the door lit up.

"Spock, it's me," Jim's voice carried through the speaker.

Spock unfolded stiff legs and stood. "Come in," he said.

The door swished open. The captain's lithe figure filled the doorway. When he took no more than two steps past the threshold, Spock closed the distance instead. He stood before Jim, head bowed. He waited for his reprimand. His behavior towards Dr. Stayfield had been reprehensible.

Kirk felt as if he'd walked into some kind of barrier. The air was solid and plied with spice. "Did you eat already?"

Surprised by the question, Spock struggled to form the simple answer. "Yes," he said. An edge of hope cut through the dismay over a potential reprimand. "Although I have already eaten, I would be agreeable to joining you for dinner, should you request my company."

A pang of guilt throbbed in Kirk's chest. Caught up in his mission efforts, he hadn't spent as much time with Spock as he should have. "There's something on the observation deck I'd like to show you."

After dousing the fire pot, Spock was ready to leave. He walked beside Jim through the halls, matching the man's pace and wondering at the odd silence. Jim usually directed his attention to various corners of the ship and explained the inner workings of the vessel. He found such moments engaging and floundered at the sudden absence of Jim's voice.

Kirk had run his plan by Stayfield. The doctor had been uncertain, but had suggested he proceed. He was nervous now, afraid of overstepping himself and breaking whatever tentative connection he had with Spock.

When they reached the double doors of the observation deck, Kirk held a breath and entered his code. He'd cleared the deck and reserved it for the night. If Spock snapped again, he didn't want witnesses. Witnesses would add oil to fire by layering shame on top of everything else the boy was feeling.

The vaulted room had an open view of the stars. Bones wouldn't come near the observation deck. It made a lot of crewmembers uneasy. The compound of duraplast was nearly as unbreakable as the shell of the ship, but some people didn't trust it. The room appeared as if the outer wall were missing, exposing occupants to the void of space.

The lights were dimmed. When they were at warp, the streaking ether cast a bright neon glow. At the moment, there was only the slow movement of stars. Thelos wasn't visible from the ship's current position.

Kirk stepped down into the well of the seating area. Dr. Stayfield's 3-D chessboard sat on a small round table flanked by two cushioned chairs.

Stepping down to join Jim, Spock nearly tripped when he caught sight of the board. He threw Jim a look of barely suppressed panic. "I do not understand. Is this intended as a form of punishment?" The board taunted him, a visible reminder of what he would never have again. He would never hear his mother's tinkling laughter as he picked over the pieces and analyzed every move.

Heart steeled against the anguish in Spock's voice, Kirk said, "No, it's a request." He turned to the boy. "Will you play a game with me?"

Spock stared at the board for a long while.

Kirk moved to one of the chairs. "I'll go easy on you. You can even be white."

"Are you so confident in your abilities?" Despite the hollow ache Spock felt, he couldn't help but wonder if the human who continually surpassed his expectations could best him at chess.

"You're looking at a founding member of Starfleet's chess club."

"One need not be proficient to form a club."

"I've got a few titles under my belt. I haven't played much on a three-D board, but maybe the handicap will give you a fighting chance."

Spock had taken several steps closer before he realized the intent behind Jim's statements. "You are attempting to appeal to my competitive nature."

"Let's just play."

After another long study of the structure, Spock nodded. "Very well." He made a point of taking the seat on the black side.

The clamp around Kirk's heart loosened. He took his place and made the first move as white.

Spock's hand hovered over a pawn. His disordered thoughts recalled past games. His mother had always chided that he was too reserved in his tactics, always starting with a pawn. Hand shifting, he plucked his knight from its place and set it on the second tier. His stomach lurched, sick with the understanding that memories were all he had left of his mother. Across the board, blue eyes caught his gaze and filled him with unspoken reassurances. Then those eyes were on the board and the next move had been made.

One move followed the next. Spock found it easier to touch the pieces.

Eventually, Kirk broke the silence. "Tell me about your mom."

Spock dropped his rook. It clattered and rolled off the board onto the table, seesawing back and forth until came to a dead stop. "I was not aware that this was another therapy session."

"It's not. Want me to go first?"

Spock didn't answer either way.

Undeterred by Spock's lack of response, Kirk said, "Her name was Winona. She was a commander in Starfleet. She died about four years ago. We lived in an old farmhouse in Iowa, close to the yards where this ship was built. She always smelled like oil and metal, even after a shower. It was the greatest smell in the world." Nostalgia overcame him whenever he went to the engine room or stood close to Scotty.

He kept going, hoping that if he threw out enough words some of them would reach Spock and maybe offer a measure of comfort. "I was around six when she went on active duty again. She took longer missions every time she went out. I remember the first year she wasn't home for New Years. My brother and I took it hard, thought maybe she'd decided never to come back. Since we never celebrated my birthday, we made a bigger deal out of New Years to make up for it."

Spock broke his stony silence to ask, "Why did you not celebrate your birthday?" He remembered streamers, cake, candles, and paper with strange patterns that concealed gifts. His mother was always eager to celebrate his birthday.

The question threw Kirk from his train of thought. "You've read up on Nero?"

"Affirmative."

"Then you know about my dad dying with the _Kelvin_ and how I was born that day. It's never been a day to celebrate." Kirk reached over and righted Spock's fallen rook. The boy's eyes followed his hand. "Anyway, long story short, even though she wasn't in my life a lot, she was still a huge part of it. When she was around, she was a great mom. I regret not knowing her better."

Longing churned inside Spock. It became imperative that he return Jim's confidence, that he share something of himself. In a rush, he said, "My mother would cry at the vernal equinox, when Vulcan's sister planet orbited closest and appeared at dusk. She rationalized that the sight was too beautiful to bear." Jim remained intent on the chessboard. He spoke again, wondering if his next statement would make Jim look at him. "I was a target of disdain for her presence on Vulcan and for being half-human. At times, I resented her. It was illogical." Still Jim studied the board. "I am not ashamed to admit that I loved her. As much as a Vulcan can love his mother, I did."

Kirk finally looked up. "You still love her. How you feel about her doesn't change just because she's gone."

Spock felt the weight of Jim's gaze. "Indeed?"

"I still love my mom," Kirk said. "She could drive me crazy and I resent that she wasn't around more, but I love her."

"I will never see my mother again."

"That's the worst of it," Kirk agreed. "Sometimes I can almost pretend that she's on assignment. That four years without talking to her isn't strange because I've gone a whole year before." He rolled one of Spock's captured pawns between his fingers, absently contemplating its smooth black surface. "Then I remember that I've got her metals in my sock drawer."

Spock bowed his head. "My father has offered to send a Vulcan adept to the ship."

"I know. He talked to me about it." Kirk sacrificed his bishop, leaving it open for attack. "Do you need one?"

"I do not know." Spock captured Jim's bishop and set it aside.

"Are you sleeping?"

Spock's eyes snapped up. He teetered with indecision, not knowing if he should confide the extent of his failure to control his mind. "I dream," he said.

"About anything in particular?"

"The act itself is abhorrent among my kind. We do not dream. I suspect it is the result of extended period without meditation."

"Why can't you meditate?"

"I lack focus. My thoughts are disordered."

"I wish I knew what would help. Dr. McCoy might have something to help you sleep."

"I would seek an adept before attempting to tamper with the chemical balance of my body."

Kirk nodded. "You can come to me if you need to." After his release from sickbay, Spock had spent each night in his own quarters. Whatever had compelled the boy to seek Kirk out in sickbay, now compelled him to retreat behind closed doors.

"To seek counsel?"

"If you need company or need to get out of your head. If you can't sleep and don't want to pace around your quarters alone, you can hang out with me."

"You suggest I interrupt your own rest?"

Kirk almost laughed at Spock's concern. He hadn't rested in years. "I'm up at odd hours anyway." He jumped his knight to the top platform. "Check."

Spock studied the board. "You were not exaggerating when you boasted of your skill."

"I like tactics." With a grin, Kirk added, "Considering I beat your Kobayashi Maru, chess is nothing. Though I'm sure you'd call me a cheat, even now."

"Please, elucidate."

With a number of unnecessary embellishments, Kirk explained Spock's unbeatable simulation at the academy and how some cocksure and devastatingly handsome cadet hadn't taken 'no' for an answer.

Spock was silent when Jim finished. Then, he concluded, "You cheated."

"It's how we first met." Kirk sat back and laughed, game forgotten. "You hated that I won."

"Hate is an emotion." The corner of Spock's mouth twitched.

Kirk read the glint in Spock's eyes as the boy feigned interest in the board. He laughed, his tension from his day easing. "You're good company, kid."

Spock kept his gaze riveted to the board. The color rose in his face until even his ears were flushed. He moved his queen to the lower platform. The queen was his mother's favorite piece. Free to move where other pieces could not, not even the king.

"Finally using your best player," Kirk said with a smile. Spock was good, but clearly still learning. He deployed his own queen. "Checkmate."

Eyebrows arched high, Spock stared unblinking at the board. "Fascinating."

"Best two out of three?"

Spock met Jim's mirthful gaze. "I will not underestimate you this time."

TBC...

-Author's note-

Good news is the next chapter is already finished. I'll post it in a couple days! Sorry about the super long wait for this chapter. Nano kept me too busy for fanfiction (yay for "shitty first drafts"). As always, please comment. Comments are my crack.

On a completely unrelated note, anyone else see Unstoppable and fall in love with Chris Pine all over again? On an even less than unrelated note, I'm hoping to see Tron: Legacy this weekend, if only for the visuals (I'm talking the special effects and CG, though guys in tight clothing counts too).


	9. Chapter 9

Beta read by Vwalk and Ivysska. Thank you guys so much!

Imprint

Chapter Nine

Spock sank into the first level of meditation. An eidetic construction of the observation deck formed in his mind. Jim sat across from him with a calm smile and glowing blue eyes. The light glinted gold off his hair. The slow movement of stars in Spock's periphery had a lulling affect. Chess pieces were divided between them, Jim's collection larger than his own. The press of broken bonds became immediate when he left the sanctum of this memory. He'd reached his limit for the evening and chose to retire.

Sleep was another issue. He had not been entirely honest with Jim. Though lack of meditation induced irregular projections from his subconscious, it was the nature of his dreams that kept him awake at night. Nightmares, as humans called them, of his time on Thelos.

As he had the past seven nights, he startled awake shortly after falling asleep. Chills wracked his body and his heart hammered a terrorized beat in his side. Snatches of his dream lingered, near enough that when he closed his eyes the images were still playing.

He saw the clearing in which Jim had left him. The captain's command shirt lay at his feet, exactly as he remembered, but in his dream it was spotted with blood. The dream always followed in the same altered reality. Jim returned for him and battled the Thelosian rebel, but the outcome was reversed. The rebel brought the rock down against brittle human bone even after Jim ceased struggling. He looked away from the gore only to spot his mother's figure sprawled nearby, as unmoving as Jim.

"Lights, one hundred percent," Spock said into the darkness.

The white glare made him wince, but the shadows fled and his dream faded with them.

As he crossed the room to his computer console, he eyed the door. Jim had extended the offer of companionship during such sleepless nights. He continued to the console. The hour was late and he could not justify impeding the captain's sleep.

Instead, he made a tentative first entry in his personal log. Dr. Stayfield had insisted he make an attempt to catalogue his every experience. Documenting his time on Thelos and aboard the Enterprise would serve a greater purpose than what the doctor intended. There was the looming possibility that reversing his present condition would leave him without memory of the incident.

Spock dictated his thoughts to the computer. He started with his earliest memory on Thelos, the sight of striking blue eyes. He stopped short of the incident in the clearing. His dream was still too near. Veering from Thelos, he focused on Jim. He explained his initial surprise at the man's intellect, fluency in Vulcan, and skill in chess.

"Jim has also lost his mother," he said into the quiet of his quarters. "He shares my regrets and grief. He has become a source of fascination and comfort."

/-/-/

By 0700, Spock had lost any relief gained from the previous day's meditation. He stood before the bathroom mirror and checked his appearance. His black uniform was tidy and his hair sleek. Only the heavy bags beneath his eyes betrayed him.

When his door chimed, he wondered if Lieutenant Uhura had sent a replacement to retrieve him. He was aware that his manner following his emotional outburst in Dr. Stayfield's office had been insulting and offensive by human standards. When the woman's slender figure appeared, he considered her lack of emotionalism to be impressive.

Uhura stayed in the hall, hands clasped behind her back. She wasn't pushing any boundaries that day. She greeted Spock with a short nod. "Good morning. Are you ready?"

"Affirmative." Spock followed beside the lieutenant whose usual tendency to chatter was lacking. He had prepared a suitable apology for his behavior yesterday. Stopping mid-stride, he regarded her sharp profile and said, "Lieutenant Uhura, I owe you an apology."

Uhura turned in surprise. The edges of resentment that had begun to form an armor around her heart crumbled when the boy looked at her with those big brown eyes. "You were upset. I understand that." Understanding hadn't stopped her from feeling hurt or for resenting the captain's seeming infallibility in Spock's eyes.

"Nevertheless, I apologize for my behavior. You have been nothing but kind to me since my arrival. I returned that kindness by shunning your aid."

It took Uhura considerable effort not to fall to her knees and gather Spock into her arms. "Apology accepted." Her smile wasn't forced, but it didn't reach her eyes. Seeing the boy each day had become more difficult. She kept searching for some sign of the man she knew. She was beginning to wonder if she'd ever known Spock in the first place.

They walked on to a nearby lift and then to the mess hall. As soon as they entered, Spock's eyes roved the tables. He catalogued each person in gold, but none of them were whom he wanted.

Uhura noted Spock's search and the telltale slump of his shoulders when it became apparent that the captain was not at breakfast yet. She ignored a twinge of jealousy. Again, understanding did not equal acceptance. She couldn't purge the instinctive response of resentment. She could only reason it into submission. It didn't help that Spock's preference for the captain was becoming more blatant.

"Do you know if Captain Kirk will be joining us this morning?" Spock asked.

"I'm not sure." Uhura led the way to the food slots.

Spock scoured the room once more, just to make sure. Uhura watched out of the corner of her eye and gripped her tray tighter. She swallowed against the hot swell of tears in her throat. There was nothing of the man she knew in this boy. It was killing her.

/-/-/

The atmosphere on the bridge was subdued. It was another day and still no green light from Command.

As Uhura stepped off the turbolift, she was surprised to find the captain already at his seat. Breakfast with Spock had been brief as usual, and for once she hadn't tried to draw it out. She hadn't filled the heavy silences. She'd already exhausted topics on which to engage his interest. Even her best efforts had only earned clipped answers. All the while the boy kept checking the room for Kirk. So she'd arrived a solid half-hour early for her shift. Kirk was already ensconced in work.

As Uhura passed by the command chair, she said, "Spock missed you at breakfast." She was compelled to relay this information if only to prove that she wasn't affected by it. This wasn't about her and she refused to be anything but supportive.

Kirk rubbed tired eyes. "I came on shift early," he said. "I'll make sure to catch him for dinner." He would have promised lunch, but he doubted he'd even have time to grab lunch for himself.

"Captain, if you need an extra set of hands, I'm willing to help." The captain's yeoman could only sort through files and log paperwork like a secretary. Uhura had taken enough prerequisites for bridge certification and cultural relations courses for her linguistics that there had to be something on the captain's docket that she could handle herself.

With an appreciative smile, Kirk said, "Thank you, but I'll manage. Scotty tells me you were invaluable yesterday. I'd like you back in engineering once you've done your prelim on the bridge."

Perking beneath the captain's praise, Uhura said, "You were right about knowing more than I thought."

"I just assume you know everything, what with the number of languages you keep packed in your head."

"Thank you, sir." Uhura turned back to her station, eager to finish checking the logs from the previous shift before heading down to see Scotty.

A moment later, Kirk remembered what he'd meant to ask Uhura the moment she'd arrived. "Uhura, how'd he look?"

"Sir?" Uhura swiveled around and lowered the transmitter from her ear.

"He hasn't been sleeping. Did he look any better?"

Uhura shook her head.

Not sure what he'd expected, Kirk simply sighed. "We played chess last night," he said. "I got him to talk about his mom. I thought it might have helped."

Feeling deflated inside, Uhura couldn't muster an assuring smile to go with her words. "Even before this mission, he was still in grief. For someone his age and under these circumstances, there's not much you can expect."

Kirk stopped short of a reply. Awareness of his surroundings made him regret even mentioning as much as he already had. He didn't want to turn Spock's personal troubles into ship's gossip. He simply nodded to the lieutenant and turned forward in his chair.

Though his thoughts lingered on the boy, he eventually forced his attention to his revised proposal. He'd send it out with the schematics of the fortress and his own tactical analysis. He tried not to brood over the possibility that he could've already had Eldridge aboard the Enterprise in the time wasted on communications to Command.

/-/-/

When Kirk reached the engineering deck the scent of metal and grease filled him with longing. He smiled at his own nostalgia. His reason for tracking down Scotty was inspired by his mother.

A mechanic at heart, the woman had never been able to sit still in all the time Kirk had known her. If something didn't need fixing, then it needed to be improved. When she was grounded between missions, she became high strung and tense. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night to find light from the barn filtering in through his bedroom window. His mother would be outside, even in the dead of winter, stripping and fixing Frank's cheap hovercar.

She'd tried to fill every moment so she didn't have to think. For twenty-two years she'd kept herself distracted. Kirk would never know if it had helped her overcome her grief or simply helped her forget that she was grieving in the first place.

On the main floor, Kirk spotted Keenser on the top rung of a coolant tank's ladder. He didn't even need to voice his question. The lieutenant pointed him in the right direction, which was opposite his current heading. He called out his thanks and steered away from Scotty's office.

Kirk came upon Scotty and Uhura on the catwalk that arched over one of the nacelles. Even as he trotted up the steps to reach them, he could hear Scotty's overexcited lecture. He considered it his duty to save Uhura after he'd been the one to send her down here, but when he drew level with them, he read the communications officer's expression of avid interest.

Uhura studied Scotty as much as she did the nacelle he gestured towards. The excitable engineer had fallen into a harsher brogue and made broad sweeping motions with his hands.

The clink of Kirk's footsteps went unheard by the Scotsman who continued talking.

Uhura caught sight of the captain and set a hand on Scotty's shoulder to grab his attention.

"What is it, lass? Am I getting ahead of myself again?"

"Captain on deck," Uhura said.

On instinct, Scott snapped a hasty salute, which was unnecessary judging by the young man's easy smile. "Cap'n, what brings ye to my neck of the woods?" The composite was finished and their guesswork on the base was as near to truth as it was going to get. "The lieutenant was humoring me a moment before we swung by the mess for lunch."

"I'm glad I caught you then," Kirk said. "I need a favor."

"I'm all ears."

Uhura excused herself. "Scotty, I'll meet you in the mess."

"It's about Spock," Kirk said. He angled his stance to include Uhura. "I'd like you to set him to work. Something non-essential that he can handle."

"Cap'n, it's delicate work all around. And dangerous for a lad."

"Get him a synthesizer to reprogram or a computer to tinker with. Set him up where he won't be in anyone's way. Check in on him when you can?"

"Aye, I'll do it. Not strictly regulation, but when have I been known for that?" Scott shared a knowing smile with the captain.

Kirk clapped Scotty's broad shoulder. "You're a good man, Scotty. Thank you."

Uhura studied Kirk. Idle hands made Vulcans stir crazy. The most obvious solution was to give Spock something to do. She should have thought of it herself. "Spock will like that."

"I hope so. It's a distraction at least." An alarm on Kirk's pocket comm went off. He fished it out and shut it off. "I'll let you two go. I've got a conference that I'll be late for if I don't run." With an absent wave, he set off.

"That one never stops, does he?" Scott commented.

/-/-/

Spock entered the crowded mess hall for dinner. As usual, Lieutenant Uhura accompanied him. He canvassed the room to no avail. Jim was not there. "Did Jim not say he would be in attendance?"

"It's still early."

A voice spoke up from behind the pair. "Fancy meeting you here."

Spock whirled around. "Jim," he said, eyes alight. "I suspected your duties would keep you detained."

"Everyone has to eat." Kirk squeezed Spock's shoulder gently. "Besides, you're better company than the admirals. My conference ran long, but I booked it over here."

Spock noted the slight flush to the man's face. "Your haste was unnecessary. We have only just arrived ourselves." Despite his claim, he was pleased that Jim had hurried.

Giving a tousle to Spock's neatly combed hair, Kirk threw the boy a teasing smile. "Sorry I missed you this morning." He didn't wait for a reply.

Dinner saw heavier traffic than any other meal. Individual departments congregated together, forming entire tables of red, others of blue or gold. The colors would mix given time.

Kirk, Spock, and Uhura joined McCoy and Scott who were still in the middle of eating.

"Bones," Kirk greeted, sidling up beside the doctor. He clapped the man on the back. "Miss me?"

"I saw you this morning. What's to miss?" Though McCoy feigned indifference, he cast an appraising eye over Jim. He saw fatigue and stress. Damn the kid for working so hard. If it wouldn't earn him a court marshal, he'd sedate the overworked brat and settle him in sickbay for the next eighteen hours.

"Were you ill, Jim?" Spock asked. He took the remaining space at the end of the table on Jim's other side.

McCoy's scoff drew everyone's attention. "Jim likes to think he has a medical degree, so he's been hounding my team in the labs. How early did you come in, again?"

Kirk shuffled his peas around. "Not sure. I just wanted an update." He didn't bother pointing out that Bones had been in the labs even earlier than him. The doctor was literally working around the clock to understand what had been done to Spock. The man's hazel eyes were bloodshot. He wished he had the authority to order bed rest, but that particular mandate came under the CMO's jurisdiction.

Spock studied Jim's profile, looking for signs of sickness. When he found none, his eyes strayed to the man's tray. As he'd noted on past occasions, there was no meat. In place of the fish or poultry that most others had on their trays, there was a salad. He wondered if Jim was a vegetarian. Before he could ask, the doctor's arm snaked around the captain's shoulders.

McCoy leaned in and said in a low voice, "Chapel found your glasses."

"Where were they?" Kirk spoke in a whisper. He'd lost them somewhere in sickbay. They were his only pair, which had been his own oversight. He'd had the same pair for five years. Freak accidents aside, he hadn't thought it likely that he'd need a replacement pair.

"Wedged behind the bio-bed."

Spock overheard the exchange, his eyes trained intently on the doctor's hand that had settled on Jim's neck, skin touching skin. He could not wrench his gaze from the intimate display.

McCoy finally dropped his arm. "They're in my office. You can grab them later."

With a wry grin, Kirk said, "You think I'm vain."

"I know you're vain. Glasses aren't so uncommon. No reason not to wear them all the time."

"I don't need them all the time." Kirk's far-sighted vision could read text up close, but hours on end gave him a headache.

McCoy shook his head in exasperation. He recalled the first time he'd spotted Jim wearing the thick lenses, blue eyes wide and bug-like. The kid had been studying and caved to the need of his glasses, but hadn't counted on McCoy returning early from the hospital. Jim wasn't vain about the glasses, but the need for them was uncommon and hinted at a disability.

Spock overheard the private conversation, unable to understand the secrecy surrounding it. While he considered possible motives, the table's conversation moved on without him. He ate his meal absently, tasting little and savoring nothing. It wasn't until Jim nudged his shoulder that his thoughts turned outward. He was surprised to notice that both Dr. McCoy and Lieutenant-Commander Scott had departed.

"Feel up for chess tonight?" Kirk asked.

"Affirmative."

Uhura stood from the table. "I'll call it a day."

Kirk tried to read past the woodenness in Uhura's dark gaze. "Goodnight, Lieutenant."

"Goodnight, Captain."

Spock simply nodded his parting to the lieutenant.

Kirk took Spock's tray and piled it atop his own. "She's brilliant, you know," he said, searching the boy's bland expression for some reaction.

Not understanding why Jim had spoken such a non sequitur, Spock simply agreed. "Starfleet would not have employed her as a chief communications officer if she were not qualified for the position."

Kirk let the issue go. He knew Spock's distant attitude toward Uhura hurt her. Though he'd buried the hatchet with the lieutenant, part of him wondered if she weren't more troubled by Spock favoring him of all people. Shaking his head, he dismissed thoughts that he didn't have the time to brood over. "Let me get rid of these and we can head to my quarters."

/-/-/

Chess proved more fascinating that evening. Spock became aggressive in his moves, attempting strategies he had avoided in the past. Jim's responding moves were defensive, but no less effective than the previous night. He would lose this game as well.

After moving his queen, Spock said, "May I make a personal query?"

"Go ahead."

"Would you not prefer to spend your evening with Dr. McCoy?"

Kirk's hand stilled mid-air. There was a strange determination behind the boy's placid expression. "No. You're good company."

_Better than Dr. McCoy?_ Spock wanted to ask. He remained silent.

"Bones gets enough of me already. And tonight I think he's sending a comm to his daughter." Kirk smiled to himself. Bones was a nervous speaker when it came to recording messages, so he stuck to the written word. The problem was that he was also a bad speller and fretted over each line, afraid his daughter would think less of him for bad English. As if earning his MD at 25 weren't proof of his genius.

"You have a child?" Spock gripped a captured bishop too tight and felt the tip of it bend.

"Me?" Kirk intoned with evident shock. "No, I said Bones' daughter."

A furrow formed between Spock's eyebrows. "I do not understand. If you are bonded with the doctor, is the child not also your own?"

It was several moments before Kirk realized Spock's misconception. He gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. Heat crept to his face. There had been rumors and speculation at the academy, but it had been awhile since he'd been suspected for his close camaraderie with Bones. "We're not bonded. Not how you're thinking. We're good friends. Nothing more."

Discretely, Spock pressed the head of the bishop back into place and set it aside. "I apologize if I have overstepped my place."

"It's fine," Kirk said, a little slow to assuage the boy's worry. He didn't like feeling as though he were in a fishbowl, his every move catalogued. "You said it was a personal question."

"Indeed."

Kirk recognized the dissatisfaction in Spock's eyes. "Is there something else?"

"It is another personal query," Spock hedged.

"Let's hear it."

"I was given to understand that humans were tactile by nature. However, I had not anticipated the degree to which this applied to their interactions with one another. In particular, you are more tactile than most I have observed. Dr. McCoy likewise expresses himself when in your presence. Is it the nature of being human or the nature of your _friendship_ that results in such intimate physical displays?"

Kirk let his head fall into his hands. Spock made it sound like sexual harassment. "You don't hold back, do you?"

Spock bowed his head. "I have offended you. I apologize. That was not my intention."

"Don't be sorry for asking a question." Kirk had to stop himself from quoting Ambassador Sarek. He struggled for an answer that would satisfy the endlessly observant Vulcan. "Humans are too different from each other to generalize all of them as tactile. Some people are, some aren't." He paused to consider himself. "If I've been too _tactile_ towards you, I'll stop." Spock had complained those first nights on Thelos, rejected his touch and explained the need for distance. He hadn't given those arguments any thought since their return.

"I did not mean to suggest your mode of expression was unwelcome," Spock interjected. "It is simply a source of fascination." Jim's touches were gentle and fleeting, harmless if his shielding were adequate.

"To answer your question about me and Bones, it's probably a bit of both. Bones is the best kind of doctor. He doesn't need a scanner to figure out what's wrong with someone. He can tell by touching them." Kirk wanted to change the subject. He eyed the board and moved his rook. "Check."

The game continued. Kirk relaxed into it. When he saw the game's end only a few moves away, he broached the subject of putting Spock to work. "How would you like to work in engineering tomorrow?"

Eyes searching the board for a means of escaping a stealthy trap laid by his opponent, it took a moment for Jim's question to settle in. Spock met the man's gaze across the table. "You are assigning me duties?"

"Not mandatory," Kirk said. "But you could pull a full shift if you felt up for it."

An undignified excitement bubbled inside Spock, but he held tight to his control. "I am not qualified or certified to aid in the ship's operations."

Kirk shrugged. "I'm the captain. I'll sanction it. It won't be anything that takes training. I assume you've worked with computers and programming."

"I have _a tren'es-vok_ grade of proficiency. I am uncertain what this would equate to by Starfleet standards."

"You done any calculus?" Kirk asked. Math was the surest way to judge the level of someone's education.

"Affirmative. However, I have not completed my advanced calculus studies."

"That's more than enough." Kirk thought that _tren'es_ might mean _trensu_, which he vaguely remembered to mean _master_. It was all the assurance he needed. In the end, he trusted Scotty to watch over the boy.

At the prospect of becoming an active worker, Spock's excitement became nearly uncontainable. He was flattered at Jim's trust in his capabilities. "Will you not be cited for a breach of regulation?"

"Scotty will throw you in a jumpsuit. No one will think twice." Kirk doubted anyone would care. Spock wasn't going to be in anyone's way and most of the engineering crew wouldn't even see him.

A jumpsuit. Spock pictured it. Instead of standing apart in his black clothes, he would blend in with every other crewmember in engineering. "I would welcome the learning experience," he said, struggling to keep a neutral expression. His mouth twitched an answering smile to the one Jim gave him.

"Checkmate," Kirk announced. He laughed when Spock's gaze narrowed and darted to the board.

"Once again, you have proven yourself superior."

With an easy chuckle, Kirk sat back in his seat. "Tell that to the computer. It still beats me half the time." Head cocking to the side, he studied the boy. "You actually programmed it. The coding has your signature."

"It is not my program." Spock's words were sharper than he meant them to be. The admiration in Jim's voice was meant for a man he had not become yet.

"You're right," Kirk said. "Let's call it a night. You should sleep early. Alpha shift starts at oh-eight-hundred."

On his feet, Spock gave a small bow. "Good night, Jim. Thank you for the game."

Kirk noted the dark circles and thin frame once more. It seemed cruel to let the boy trot off and fight his demons alone in his quarters. "You're still not sleeping, are you?" he asked, needing to remind Spock that he didn't need to grieve alone.

The question was unexpected. Spock straightened.

With a wave towards his desk, Kirk said, "See that mess?" The boy's eyes swept over the clutter of datachips and pads. "I'll be awake for awhile. Remember what I said last time. If you can't sleep, come get me."

"Do you not also require sleep?"

"I'm in better shape than you, buddy."

Spock agreed only because Jim's earnest expression demanded it. "Very well." With another bow, he took his leave.

/-/-/

The same dream came to Spock that night. A shout for his mother was on his lips when he shot awake. Beneath the stiff Starfleet issue blanket, he was chilled through.

He called for the lights and sat a moment longer in bed before standing. Around the privacy screen, the desk console across the sitting room waited for him. He was halfway across the room before he stopped and debated taking advantage of the captain's sense of responsibility. Not responsibility, he realized. He remembered the look of genuine concern in Jim's eyes.

Spock took the first of sixty-two steps that brought him to Jim's quarters. The remaining steps passed too quickly. He stood outside Jim's door, displaced and uncertain. When he pressed the door's chime, its whistle aggravated his ears. He was certain he had woken the entire deck. A moment passed without an invitation to come inside. He was ready to turn around, certain that an exhausted Jim had slept through the noise.

The captain's door slid open, the quiet hiss an invitation in and off itself. Jim stood opposite the threshold in black flannel pants and a loose fitted white t-shirt. The thin wire framed glasses that Spock had never seen before were nestled atop wayward hair. He was suddenly at a loss for words. He met blue eyes and doubted for a moment whether the man had ever suggested he come over, as if he'd imagined the offer.

"Misery loves company," Kirk said. He stepped back and waved Spock inside. "I can't sleep either."

Spock wondered at the veracity of Jim's statement. Perhaps the man was simply being polite. He entered the cabin anyway.

Dragging his thumb and forefinger over sore eyelids, Kirk stifled a yawn. He glanced at the chessboard that he still hadn't returned to Dr. Stayfield. "I'm not thinking clear enough for chess."

Still at loss for something of worth to say, Spock said nothing.

Kirk directed the boy to the grey sofa in his sitting area. A blanket lay at one end and an earmarked book sat propped against the armrest. "I was reading," he explained. "Have a seat."

There was room enough on the couch to seat three or four persons, but Spock took the far end regardless. He sat on the edge of the cushion. Unable to discern the title of the book, he finally had something to say. "What work are you reading?"

Kirk snatched the blanket and threw it over the back of the couch. He sat down with a groan. "Hamlet," he said, taking the book in hand. "I have a weakness for Shakespeare."

The Terran playwright was not unknown to Spock. His mother had a collection of his works, though he had never read them himself.

Drawing once more on his family for inspiration, Kirk said, "How 'bout I read to you?" How many times had Sam sat awake with him, making up stories about spaceships and planets until he'd fallen asleep? On the nights that he'd settled Spock against him, he'd felt like a child playing dress up. It was the same now. Just a kid trying on his big brother's shoes. Even if he'd taken over Sam's role as the big brother, he would always be a little brother himself.

Kirk levered up from the couch and disappeared into his bedroom before he returned a moment later with a pillow. "Here," he said, pillow held out to Spock.

Spock accepted the pillow, its muted red color a match for the one in his quarters.

"Lay down," Kirk prompted when Spock simply stared at the pillow as if it were a math problem. He waited for some kind of protest, but the boy obediently set the pillow against the armrest and settled down. He threw the blanket over him.

There was spice on the pillow, faint and sweet. This was Jim's pillow. Spock flushed at the realization, but didn't lift his head. He watched intently as Jim sat at the other end of the couch. His feet would have touched the man if he stretched out.

Kirk thumbed to the beginning of the play. It wasn't until the small print blurred that he realized he wasn't wearing his glasses. He'd shoved them aside out of habit when the door had chimed. He settled them into place again, satisfied when the print focused.

"Why do you not undergo corrective surgery?" Spock asked. From the exchange he'd overheard at dinner, he gathered that few people had seen Jim wearing spectacles. Seeing the man thus, dressed down in sleepwear with his glasses, it became the single most intimate moment he had shared with another person, excepting his mother.

"My corneas are too thin for Lasik."

Sitting up to speak on an even level, Spock said, "There are alternative corrective measures."

"I'm allergic to Retinax V, the drug used in those procedures." Bones had always told him that there were worse things to be allergic to.

Though Spock had not known what to say earlier, now he had too many questions. Jim seemed more complex and fascinating for his physical defect. He wanted to know everything about this human who was flawed and yet superior in so many ways. His next question came out rushed. "Are you a vegetarian?"

Shadows formed beneath Kirk's eyes when he tilted his head in consideration. "You're full of questions tonight." He was suddenly grateful to have his glasses on. They hid part of his face. He felt exposed. Vulcans were nosy by nature, but it was innocent curiosity. Spock hadn't meant to trigger him.

Spock did not understand the strange look that overcame Jim. Guarded and wary, blue eyes no longer friendly. He repressed the inclination to apologize. Nevertheless, he spoke in an apologetic tone. "You are under no obligation to answer. It was simply a query based on observations of your meals."

Sighing, Kirk gave a small smile. "Yes, I'm a vegetarian. Now lay down and I'll read."

Spock complied, chin tucked in close so he could still see Jim at the other end of the couch. His body was exhausted. His addled mind couldn't parse the unfamiliar dialect, but the rich timbre of Jim's voice washed over him. Heavy limbs sank deeper into the couch. He did not follow the story, or what little of it Jim managed to read before he fell asleep. There was only Jim's voice and the solid warmth of the man near his feet.

TBC…

-Author's notes– (It's long because I won't be posting until next year)

Thank you all for your reviews. Because you guys are so awesome, I have surprise! Fair warning, I'm not a poet or an artist, so the piece I plan to post might traumatize you for life.

Not all the pictures are work safe. Nothing explicit, but adult themes abound. You'll have to check out my profile for a link. I can't insert it into this chapter.

Now onto notes that actually deal with this chapter.

I'm not a fan of secondary pairings in a fic. I especially dislike it when a Kirk/Spock fic makes a point of pairing Uhura up with someone else after she and Spock have broken up. As if throwing her together with another man is necessary to her happiness or makes it okay that a serious relationship just ended. To use a cliché, Uhura is a strong, independent woman. So despite whatever hints I drop about her and McCoy, or her and Scott, I'm not going to have her become involved with either of them. Uhura/Scott is TOS canon. A lot of AOS fics put her with McCoy. There will be hints of potential for both, but I'll leave whatever happens in the future up to your imaginations.

I put this admission at the end in the hopes that no one has kept reading my note this far. I totally sold out on the 'Spock becomes jealous of McCoy' cliché. I wasn't going to do it. Then I did and I liked it, so now I'm a hypocrite.


	10. Chapter 10

**Update 2/18/13:** This story is NOT abandoned! Chapter 11 is essentially finished. Chapter 12 is well on its way to being finished. Chapter 13 has an outline. However, I'm not posting piecemeal style anymore. So no updates will be forthcoming, not until the entire story is completed, which will take quite awhile, another year, idk. I'm sorry. It's just less frustrating on everyone, I think.

**Imprint**

**Chapter Ten**

Spock woke earlier than necessary in anticipation of his first shift in engineering. His mind stirred from a black murk that was as empty as the vacuum beyond the hull, bondless and hollow but also dreamless. For the first time in over a week he felt rested instead of restive.

The lights in Jim's quarters were on, which seemed strange until he sat up and found the man sprawled at the other end of the couch. Chin to his chest, glasses balanced on the tip of his nose, and hand loosely clutched around Hamlet, Jim appeared overcome by exhaustion.

Spock folded his blanket into a neat square, then took it upon himself to ensure the safekeeping of Jim's antique text. As he slid the book free, his felt the heat of the sleeping man's palm, a reminder of their past nights together and the warmth with which Jim protected him. He plucked wire-rimmed glasses from their precarious perch, revealing two reddened indentations on either side of Jim's nose. Having never handled spectacles before, he fiddled with the legs and peered through the lenses, blinking at the distortion.

As always, Jim appeared younger in repose, the lines of his face already secured in Spock's memory. Dark eyebrows and lashes, the shaded hollows created by high cheekbones, the slope of his nose, the fullness of lips that were the color of a Vulcan dawn. A color he could only see in facsimile.

Jim was an attractive man in many respects, not the least of which included his physical appearance. Spock had known this their entire acquaintance, but it gave him pause now. Head tilting to the side, he pondered the source of his interest. The answer was not forthcoming, so he left the matter for later contemplation.

He set Jim's glasses beside the book on the armrest and took his leave to prepare for the day. There would be enough time to make an entry in his personal log, which was quickly becoming a sounding board for all his questions on human nature. He also intended to research alternatives to Retinax 5.

/-/-/

The lights on the bridge had a drilling effect on the inside of Kirk's skull. Between Hamlet's third act and waking to find his Vulcan chess buddy gone, he'd caught a few hours of sleep, but the tension and stress of the past week still raged against his left temple. By force of will, he stayed invested in his operations reports, endless operations, mundane to the point of tears and possibly suicide.

Halfway through his shift he gave his eyes a break and called down to Scotty. It was a long moment before the panel on the arm of his chair lit with a reply.

"Scott here, Cap'n. What can I do for ye?"

"Have you made an engineer out of our youngest crewmember yet?"

Seated at either end of the long navigation console, Sulu and Chekov shared a look. The helmsmen's interaction with Spock had been minimal, but they were among a growing number of crewmembers that believed the incident was priceless anecdotal material. Kirk agreed that it would make a good story by the end of their tour, but he wasn't in a position to feel very amused, not yet anyway.

"Aye, Cap'n. I only wish ye'd thought of this sooner. It's not everyday I get to give the commander orders."

"Scotty," Kirk said in a tone that threatened greater restrictions on inventory supplies.

"Have no worries. I've not sassed the lad none. He's a fine engineer and I'll be hard pressed to return him to the bridge after this."

"Good man." Kirk looked over and found Uhura listening in. "Keep it up."

"Aye, sir. Scott out."

Before Uhura could ask if Kirk planned to join her and Spock for lunch, an incoming communication drew her attention. She listened to its designation and said, "Captain, I'm receiving a communication from Starfleet Command. Priority channel."

Standing, Kirk tugged his shirt straight and said, "Put it on screen, Lieutenant."

The viewing window polarized and three stone-faced men locked eyes on Kirk. He recognized Admirals Komack and Archer, whom he spoke with almost as often as Pike, and Langston, whom he'd only spoken with once during the memorial ceremony.

Kirk saluted and stood at attention. "Admirals," he said as one collective greeting. The entire bridge tensed with him. This impromptu meeting might have been better taken in the privacy of his office, but the admirals hadn't tagged the communication as classified.

In the center, Komack spoke first. "Captain Kirk, we've reviewed your latest operation proposal." He paused, dragging the tense moment out, then continued, "How soon can you put it to action?"

"Thirty minutes, sir," Kirk said, aware that the admirals were measuring his every word. A half-hour wasn't an arrogant estimation. It was realistic considering security had been briefed days ago. He'd been ready to make a move since Scotty finished the specs on the base.

The admirals searched Kirk for any indication of the recklessness they feared would come from such an early promotion. The young man's steady gaze betrayed nothing beyond determination to carry out the mission.

Archer was the first to extend his approval. He typed on the panel in front of him. "Your orders are coming through."

Kirk glanced over his shoulder and Uhura answered him before he could even voice his question.

"Orders received, Captain," Uhura said, hands poised over her console.

"We want Ambassador Eldridge delivered alive, Captain Kirk," Langston said. His lips wrinkled as his mouth set into a frown.

Smart ass comments were a reflex for Kirk, but he'd learned to censor himself. Instead of asking if Langston would also like Eldridge gift wrapped and shipped express, he gave a curt nod. "Understood, sirs."

Doubt lingered in the admirals' gazes, but Komack cut the feed without further comment. There was an abruptness to the interaction that left everyone holding their breath, expecting the admirals to pop back onscreen and issue additional orders.

Kirk's annoyance with the admirals suffered a guilt ridden death when he considered Lieutenants Carter and Folsen. It was little wonder the admirals remained dubious of his command. To claim that Folsen and Cater's deaths were his fault would be arrogant and a gross misrepresentation of the facts, but a captain always bore some responsibility.

"Lieutenant Uhura, notify security I'm on my way."

/-/-/

Kirk was en route to his quarters when Spock intercepted him. He could tell by the glint of frustration in the boy's eyes that he'd been searching for Kirk without much success, likely just missing him as he buzzed from one department to the next.

"Jim, may we speak?"

"Always," Kirk said with an easy smile. "I'm headed for my quarters. We can talk there."

"Logical."

By the time they reached his quarters, Kirk was more anxious about Spock's reaction to his mission than the mission itself. He made a beeline for his desk and began sorting through the mess of datachips. He needed to send the most recent operations reports to Scotty, a precaution in case he didn't make it back. Given the state of his desk, he didn't think the chief engineer would appreciate having to wade through the bog of mixed material.

Spock stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back in a demur fashion. "Lieutenant Uhura has informed me of your participation in an upcoming mission that requires your transportation to Thelos."

After slotting a chip, Kirk leaned a hip against his desk. The hem of his shirt rode high to reveal the black layer beneath and the angular cut of his waist. "I can guess what you're going to say." With a few keystrokes, he sent the data to Scotty and exchanged the chip for another.

"Then you understand my concerns?"

A subdued smile softened the line of Kirk's mouth. The boy's worry was palpable, but his decision couldn't be swayed by the quiet plea in those brown eyes. "I do, but that doesn't change that I'm going."

Surprise registered on Spock's face before he recovered his calm. "It is not my place to request concessions of you. It is even less so when it involves your performance as captain. However, the logic of your actions eludes me."

Kirk was mildly amused at how diplomatic Spock was trying to be. He could see the impatience beneath the surface, the need to simply demand that he stay.

"Is your direct participation truly necessary?" Spock asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "I was given to understand that I was your second in command. As I can no longer perform in your stead, does that not mandate your safekeeping aboard the ship?"

"Lieutenant-Commander Scott is more than capable of manning the helm," Kirk said. His reasons for transporting down were too numerous to explain in the short time he had, not the least of which included the expectations of his superiors. Despite his personal feelings toward the ambassador, he intended to oversee the man's safe return. He also couldn't entrust his side mission to anyone else, not when his search for the relic would be off the books.

At a loss for how to counter Jim's statement without disparaging the capabilities of the chief engineer whom he'd grown to admire that past afternoon, Spock's frustration manifested in the furrow of his brow.

Spock settled for simple honesty. "I do not want you to go."

"I'm sorry, but I have to."

"You do not," Spock said. "You are choosing to place yourself in danger. I may not understand the particulars of your position, but I recognize the failings of logic in this decision."

Kirk hated that he had to be brief. Every second mattered and he didn't have time to explain his motivation. "You'll have Uhura here while I'm gone."

"It is dangerous." Spock would have quoted an estimate, but he knew numbers would not deter Jim. Numbers meant nothing to a man who constantly defied them.

"I know."

Spock's voice swelled with urgency. "I ask that you reconsider."

Dragging a hand through his hair, Kirk tried to swallow his guilt. "Spock, this is my job."

"Please," Spock said, at a loss for any rational argument that would convince Jim to remain. "I have lost much and have no desire to consider you among those losses."

"Jesus, kid." Kirk moved closer and knelt in front of the boy, gripping his narrow shoulders. "I'm coming back."

"You cannot make that guarantee."

"Trust me."

"Sanu, ri hal-tor." _Please, do not go._

Hanging his head, Kirk released his hold. "I beam down in fifteen minutes," he said, resolute in his decision.

"I see." Spock stepped back. "Excuse me." He left Jim's quarters, back straight and legs stiff, his whole body brittle. He was a fool, tricked by his pride into believing that Jim would ever heed his selfish request.

/-/-/

Kirk made his way to the transporter room. The long stretch of corridor provided him ample time to stew in his guilt. In his periphery he spotted the whip of Uhura's hair and resigned himself playing the bad guy.

Falling into stride with the captain, Uhura said, "You don't have to go."

"Not now, Lieutenant." Kirk shifted his landing gear to one arm, the parka and belt draped over the crook of his elbow.

Determined to speak her mind, Uhura persisted. "If anything happened to you, it would crush him. He's fixated on you, you have to know that." Spock's hero complex was becoming something of a burden for her to witness.

"I know!" Kirk whirled around to face his lieutenant. He took a deep breath and made a vague gesture of apology. "I know," he repeated more calmly. "But this is my operation and I'm taking point."

"I know," Uhura said, echoing Kirk's words, "but standard protocol would be for you to stay."

"Protocol takes a back seat on this one."

Having witnessed the call from the admirals, Uhura couldn't argue. Every word and glance had held the tacit expectancy that Kirk would lead the rescue. She didn't like Kirk's apparent expendability.

"You'll be here for him?"

"Of course."

"Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Captain. Be safe." Uhura made an abortive move to touch Kirk's shoulder. There was a hard edge to the captain's eyes that made her conscious of the gap between their ranks.

Kirk gave the slender lieutenant a cocky grin. "Safe is my middle name," he said. "At least I wish it were. Tiberious is impossible to explain."

Uhura smiled despite her thorough distaste for corny jokes. If Kirk didn't come back in one piece, she'd kill him, superior officer or not.

/-/-/

Scotty placed the landing party as near to the base as possible without compromising their position. There were no trees for cover, only scraggly sagebrush and the occasional cluster of boulders. The ground itself appeared covered in shale, broken bits of purple rock that reminded Kirk of the quarry back home. Even the earthen clay smell was familiar, displaced from his hometown to this M-class planet in the Beta Quadrant. The high elevation distorted his perspective and made the forest in the pit of the valley appear miniature.

The communicators could maintain a stable connection with the ship within a small radius of their landing coordinates. Scotty had done his best to boost their signals and cut through continued interference, but the limits imposed by the jamming signal had shaped the entire operation. They were walking a tightrope without a net.

"Rendezvous back here in two hours," Kirk said, the team huddled around him for a final word. "Keep off the comm lines. We run this silent and fast." He locked eyes with Lieutenant-Commander Giotto. "If your team gets to Eldridge first, don't waste the chance to get him out."

"Aye, sir," said Giotto. His goatee framed the hard line of his mouth. As security chief, he'd take lead of the second team and move around the western side of the base.

Kirk watched Giotto and his half of the team head out, then led his own group eastward. A trodden pathway zigzagged up the steep hillside. The path would have eyes on it, so they forged a straight line a safe distance away. They plateaued after three kilometers, but Kirk's thighs still cried out against the abuse.

Brittle rocks shifted underfoot and snow melt created patches of black ice, forcing them to keep half their attention on the ground. Their navy parkas were decent camouflage, but Kirk was counting on dusk to give them better cover.

The late afternoon sky was a seamless overcast of washed out gray, an Iowan sky on a dead winter day when the wind abandoned the flat plains and left the clouds to hang and swell over farmlands. Kirk knew the weather by instinct. When the sun dipped low enough, the wind would hurdle in from colder climes and trigger the fatted clouds to release their day's burden.

Indicators of the base were apparent early on in their approach. Supply carts left on the side of the path, old campfires and debris. Like the shaman's temple, the base was impossible to miss. It wasn't a gleaming monolith of polished stone, but it was set into the top of the hill's ridge. Made of wood and mortared bricks, the fortress spanned a width of two hundred yards and housed a small shanty village inside. Unshaven tree logs fenced the perimeter, too high to scale without drawing attention.

At a group of boulders stacked together like break rocks, most likely placed there by the rebels during construction of the base, Kirk motioned for his men to stop. Tucked out of sight, they took a moment to catch their breath, lungs hardened and teeth aching from the cold.

Dusk drew fiery tendrils across the horizon, highlighting thinner areas of cloud cover and giving color to an otherwise blanched skyline. Smoke rose from the shanty houses inside the base and the distant din of moving bodies swelled as everyone rushed to finish their day and head home for warmth. Shadows grew longer and deeper.

Kirk's team consisted of Lieutenants Nielson and Handel, and Lieutenant-Commander Thomas. He knew Thomas from a hand-to-hand class at the academy, whipcord reflexes and a mean right hook. The man had a Chinese dragon tattooed on the left side of his face, the black ink almost invisible against his dark skin.

"How'd they build this without tipping anyone off?" asked Nielson. He was the shortest man among them and had a bush of brown curly hair that his hat flattened to frame his squarish face.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Kirk said. He adjusted his hat so his ears weren't covered.

Thomas crept to the top of the boulder and glassed the fortress, a slow and thorough sweep. "East entrance is guarded, as expected."

"How many?" Kirk wanted to keep their presence undetected for as long as possible, at the very least until they were inside the base.

"Two. They're stationary."

"Any on patrol?"

"Not that I see."

"We'll wait to see if any come around."

A snowflake kissed Kirk's cheek, gentle and frigid. He cast his eyes skyward and smiled, the stretch of his lips feeling tight and chapped. A staccato of flakes drifted down from the darkening sky. A rush of wind howled in the distance, sweeping over the ridge. It only took ten minutes before their sight couldn't pierce twenty yards.

Kirk tapped Thomas's leg and spotted him as he slid down.

The wind picked up speed, kicking flurries about and whistling a hollow tune over the barren ground.

"Move out."

/-/-/

A reedy wisp of smoke billowed from the coals in Spock's fire pot, unattended and long forgotten. The pot itself was cradled in the arms of a dragon statuette, an excessive decoration that made Spock question the taste of his adult self. The air in his quarters carried spice and heat, a poor imitation of the air on Vulcan.

When a communication hailed in through the desk console, he abandoned his meditation and rushed across the room. Lieutenant Uhura had sworn to contact him the moment of Jim's return. The sight of his father onscreen came as a surprise and disappointment.

"Greetings, Spock." Sarek studied the precise line of the boy's bangs, the youthful dusting of freckles, and his muted black clothing.

"Greetings, Father. I had not anticipated your call until tomorrow."

"Yet you answered with evident eagerness," Sarek said, lightly chastising. The boy had answered before taking his seat.

Spock bowed his head in acknowledgment of his father's rebuke. "I await news of Captain Kirk."

"I was informed that he was not available to speak with."

In a rueful tone, Spock said, "He has transported into potentially hostile territory over two hours past."

It was a long moment before Sarek responded. He debated the quandary of his son's position as someone simultaneously bound by and exempt from Starfleet's code of conduct. "You refer to classified activities on a public channel. My status as ambassador does not give me privilege to such knowledge."

Realization brought a hot wave of shame. "I spoke without censure and failed to consider the gravity of my words."

"A transgression that may hold graver consequences in the future. Take heed of your unique position." Compelled by instinct to aid his son in whatever fashion he could, Sarek added, "Captain Kirk impresses me as a man qualified for his position. I trust in his ability to accomplish whatever task presently occupies him."

"He had similar words for me prior to his departure. Nevertheless, his safety cannot be guaranteed."

"You worry for him," Sarek said, suddenly understanding his son's tense demeanor. He had seen the same in Amanda. His wife had worried, fretted as she called it, during his more threatening diplomatic encounters.

"I am struggling to control my emotions. Worry is predominant among them."

"How comes your meditation?"

"Difficult, but improved."

"Perhaps with Captain Kirk's return, a resolution to your condition will be reached."

"You refer to the relic's retrieval?" Spock didn't know what his father had heard about the device.

"Captain Kirk apprised me of its relevance and potential to reverse your transformation. I can only assume he currently seeks to obtain it."

"A logical deduction." One made without further breach of security clearance. Spock admired his father's diligence in such matters, always self-aware.

Indulging another moment's study of his son, Sarek remembered Spock's childhood years with fondness. He had not always been the father Spock's human side needed him to be. His response to Spock's rejection of the VSA had been extreme. Now he faced his son who had no recollect of those troubled times, no memory of a father who had severed ties.

With subdued regret, Sarek said, "I will leave you to your meditation." There stood a strong chance that his son's age would be restored before their next communication.

Spock wanted to prolong the call, perhaps ask after the colony, but his father was a busy man. "Live long and prosper, Father."

"Peace and long life, my son."

/-/-/

When the landing party returned to the ship, the headcount was down by one captain and one chief of security. Fortunately, the count was also up by one disgruntled ambassador.

Thrashing on a biobed in sickbay, Ambassador Eldridge demanded the whereabouts of the Captain Kirk. "Where is he? Where's your captain?"

"I don't know," McCoy said. "Hold still for the scanner." He took the ambassador's readings. The man was a little dehydrated, but no worse for the wear.

"I've been brutalized," Eldridge said. "Your captain left me there to die. I demand he answer for this."

McCoy caught Chapel's eye and nodded toward the supply tray by the bed. "Nurse, please settle our patient."

"Of course, doctor." Chapel loaded a sedative.

Eldridge took the spray with a yelp. He turned on the blonde nurse and sneered. "Are you as incompetent as your commander?"

Chapel maintained an unimpressed expression.

The ambassador drifted off, but fought to stay conscious as he grabbed a fistful of the doctor's shirt. "It's a trap."

The urgency in Eldridge's voice raised the hairs on McCoy's neck.

"Tell Kirk," Eldridge said, his words starting to slur. His eyes rolled, lost behind heavy lids before he fought back to the surface once more.

"Tell him what?" McCoy leaned in to catch the ambassador's whisper. He debated giving the man a stimulant, but the doctor in him advised against it.

"Code eighty-six." With this final proclamation, Eldridge slumped into oblivion.

Chapel asked, "Was he delusional?"

"Possibly," McCoy said, "but better safe than sorry."

"I'll alert Lieutenant-Commander Scott." Chapel moved for the nearest comm panel.

McCoy left the ambassador and the cryptic warning behind for his next patient. M'Benga had the only life threatening case to deal with, whereas he'd been saddled with the dehydrated diplomat. Now he faced a sickbay full of red shirts and no command gold to relieve his fears.

Scanner in hand, McCoy read Handel's vitals. "Phaser burns," he said, eyebrows arched in surprise. "Take your shirt off and lie back."

Movements stiff, Handel peeled his shirt overhead. One of the nurses had already cut away the material around his burn.

McCoy scowled as he worked, swabbing the wound in a solution that sterilized and anesthetized. "Was this friendly fire?"

Handel hesitated, eyeing the doctor before he answered. He knew McCoy was close to the captain. "I wish," he said.

Muttering a curse that would've made his mama weep, McCoy took a moment to gather himself before refocusing on the task at hand. "Where's the captain?"

"He's still down there." When it seemed like the doctor might burn more holes into his arm, Handel added, "The chief's with him."

McCoy's jaw flexed. He knew Giotto as the prick from the academy and also as the dedicated security officer. He didn't know whether he should worry more or less knowing such a man was down there with his captain. Jim trusted Giotto enough to commission him as chief of security, but nothing could put his mind at ease except having Jim back under his watch.

/-/-/

Ignoring Lieutenant Uhura's suggestion that he wait for her arrival, Spock hastened from his quarters and made a beeline for sickbay. It seemed that he was always due the woman an apology, yet he did not regret his rashness, not when the lift opened to Deck G and afforded him the view of sickbay's wide entrance.

Spock searched the main bay and followed the commotion to Bay 3. Men in red shirts occupied the beds, most of them in raucous conversation with one another, none of them severely injured. Farther along he found Dr. McCoy.

Responding to McCoy's call, Scott located the doctor in one of the bays. As he approached he spotted the wee commander. "What're ye doing here, laddie?"

"I was informed of the landing party's return. Do you know the whereabouts of Captain Kirk?"

McCoy glanced over his shoulder and found the tiny hobgoblin standing nearby. He hadn't even noticed the boy come in. "You shouldn't be here, kid."

"Aye, 'tis no place for ye when everyone's hopping about on serious business." Scott mitigated the reprimand with a sheepish grin. The commander had the run of the ship at the captain's behest, but still needed looking after.

McCoy motioned to Scotty, signaling that he needed to speak with him privately.

Needing confirmation on Jim's safety, Spock said, "I shall leave upon determination of Captain Kirk whereabouts."

Scott had a soft spot for anyone who could rewire the entire circuit board of a Clone model synthesizer in less than two hours. "Ye're outta luck. He's not come back yet."

"The landing party has returned." Spock cast a look toward the rows of beds housing other patients. His intent gaze challenged either man to dispute such irrefutable evidence.

"Aye, most of 'em came back," Scott said.

Something tightened inside Spock as he waited for elaboration. For a disorienting moment, his vision faded and his head swam with a strange static noise. When his senses cleared, he heard the lieutenant-commander's response.

"Sorry, laddie. He'll be back soon, mark my words."

Spock could not hide his dissatisfaction with this answer. He regarded the man expectantly, awaiting further details of Jim's whereabouts and reasons for not being present.

"We'll walk you out," McCoy said.

Outside of sickbay, Spock stared at the bend of the hallway, willing Jim to stride into view. His irrational hope proved fruitless. Passing crewmen took notice, his stillness out of place amidst so much activity, but no one spoke to him.

Eventually Lieutenant Uhura arrived to reclaim him. He relished her familiar presence, but couldn't bring himself to express his gratitude. He followed her in silence, the static of his anxiety crackling in the background of his thoughts.

/-/-/

An alarm sounded once the rebels found Eldridge's cell empty. The klaxon whaled above the pitch of the snowstorm. Kirk and Giotto moved along the back side of the jailhouse, their presence undetected for the moment.

Eldridge's cell resembled a cheap hostel room. Kirk had hoped to find the shaman hostages alongside the ambassador, but Eldridge was alone and the remaining six cells were vacant. There were signs of recent occupancy, which he refrained from interpreting one way or the other.

The jailhouse stood in the center of the base, convenient enough if rescuing Eldridge were his sole purpose. With Eldridge freed and the majority of his crew en route to rendezvous with the ship, Kirk began his search for the relic. Giotto's refusal to return to without him was cause for later disciplinary action, but Kirk found himself grateful for the backup and halfhearted in his attempts to dissuade the man.

Instinct guided Kirk north, deeper inside enemy territory. Scotty's specs suggested underground construction, yet all he'd seen sat above ground. He darted between sheds and hid behind the clutter of tarps and carts. A portion of the rebels had left the base in search of Eldridge.

He pulled up short when a high rising cliff wall presented a dead end. There was a twenty-yard gap of open ground between the last few thatched sheds and the rock surface, and within that space the rebels had gathered their forces. It wasn't until he spotted the mouth of a cave sealed shut by a reinforced metal door that dismay set in. The door sported more rivets and bolts than actual door and a control station at its side.

The rebels employed tech that could scramble sensors capable of scanning two parsecs, then there had been phaser fire in response to their jailbreak, and now a door made of what Kirk judged was an alloy similar to the _Enterprise_'s inner hull. His creeping suspicions were all but confirmed. Determined to see beneath surface, he turned to Giotto with his plan.

Giotto interpreted the glint in his captain's eyes. "I've seen that look before," he said. It was the look of a man outnumbered and overpowered, but unwilling to back down.

"Now would be the time to grab a couple more guys and make this an even fight."

"This isn't four-to-one." Giotto would have welcomed those odds.

"Then I'm glad you're on my side this time."

At the sight of the same cocksure smile he remembered from the bar in Riverside, Giotto prayed Kirk had learned how to throw more than a right hook. "On your mark, sir."

Kirk clasped Giotto's shoulder. "This might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, cupcake."

The captain's sober expression belied his glib words. Giotto took a deep breath and nodded his readiness.

/-/-/

The deadline for Jim's return crept past the three-hour mark, then the four-hour mark. Spock sat at his desk console and waited for news. Lieutenant Uhura visited and asked him to dinner, but he declined because the thought of food brought an unpleasant acidic taste to the back of his throat.

He occupied his time with entries in his personal log. The heavy spice of incense clung to the air, tickling the back of his throat as he spoke.

"I do not understand," he said into the quiet of his quarters. "Did Jim underestimate the value of his life?" All life was invaluable, and yet when circumstances required sacrifice it was only logical to elevate the more productive and vital members of a society above others. If Jim grasped the full measure of his importance as captain, then he would have delegated his position on the team to a subordinate.

"Although I comprehend the futility of dwelling on what has already passed, my mind returns to a single question: if I were older and a Starfleet commander by true merit, would I have taken Jim's place?"

The computer recorded his words, but offered no response.

"The fact remains, I am not a commander and I cannot help."

Spock felt at odds with himself, resentful even.

"My concern for Jim's welfare is not without a measure of self-interest. Should injury befall him, I believe that the progress I have made in my meditation and emotional control will regress."

The computer remained unsympathetic, while the chronometer flaunted the late hour. His dependence on Jim resonated too deeply. He could feel the bands unraveling in his mind.

/-/-/

With Giotto's arm slung around his shoulders, Kirk staggered into range of the ship. Once assured of his position, he lowered Giotto to the ground and pulled out his communicator.

"You're a insane, you know that?" Giotto said, breaths labored and misted.

"Since I was born." Kirk dialed in and crouched beside his chief of security, clamping his free hand over the makeshift bandage around the man's thigh.

Groaning as his captain's hand pressed down on his leg, Giotto summoned his last reserve of stamina. Getting hit with shrapnel hadn't been so bad, but running despite his injury had sent shocks of pain along his entire leg, like jabbing at the exposed root of a rotten tooth. He tried to distract himself by talking.

"An overcharged phaser," he said, scoffing at the insane genius of the Iowan farmboy. "I can't believe it worked."

The explosion had worked a little too well. A sharp pain throbbed deep in Kirk's left ear, meanwhile he couldn't hear a thing out of it. If the drip of blood over his earlobe was anything to go by, he suspected he had blown an eardrum. Bones was going to kill him.

The communicator chirruped the tone for a failed connection. Kirk scoured the area. A layer of snow coated the ground, but he remained confident that they were in the right spot. He tried again.

"We don't have much time," Giotto said, squinting to see if their tail had caught up yet.

"Kirk to _Enterprise_, come in." Kirk grit his teeth when silence met his call. His began to form potential fallback plans. Giotto wouldn't last long on the run and they weren't close enough to the forest to take cover.

Static fizzed over the line. Kirk anticipated another failed connection, but a familiar Scottish brogue broke through.

"I read ye, Cap'n. Standby for transport."

Hanging his head in relief, Kirk smiled as he replied, "Standing by."

The landscaped dissolved in a cocoon of white light and reformed into the sleek lines of the transporter pad. He kept a firm hand on Giotto's leg.

"Call McCoy," he said to Scotty.

"He's on his way," Scott assured, grinning like a loon.

/-/-/

Uhura kept a professional pace until a passing group of yeomen were out of sight, then broke into a jog. To avoid a repeat of last time, she chose to deliver her message in person. She thumbed the call button outside Spock's quarters.

"Spock, he's back," she said. A pleased thrill ran through her, as if delivering this news were tantamount to fostering that missing connection with the boy.

The door opened and a harried looking Spock drew back before he collided with the lieutenant.

"I thought I'd come with you this time." Uhura said this without censure.

"Have you confirmed that Captain Kirk has truly returned?"

Having apologized enough for her previous mistake, Uhura simply said, "He's in sickbay."

"He has been injured?" Spock walked beside the lieutenant and fought the urge to run.

"He'd be in sickbay even if he were fine. It's standard procedure, so let's not jump to conclusions."

It was in Spock's nature to consider every possibility and he knew better than to draw conclusions prematurely. Given Jim's propensity for danger and the fact that he'd failed to return as scheduled, it was only logical to suspect harm had befallen the captain.

As they boarded the lift, Uhura said, "You know he would've stayed if the situation were different."

"The situation did not mandate his participation in the landing party."

Able to sympathize with any conflict of interest involving Spock, Uhura defended Kirk's decision. "He had his orders," she asserted.

Spock stared with open curiosity at the lieutenant's sharp profile. Jim had failed to mention that his superiors' influence. Despite the failings of logic behind such a decision, Jim's compliance remained obligatory.

"I was not fully aware of the circumstances," Spock said.

"What did he tell you?"

"He informed me that regardless of my personal preference and assessment, he had a duty to perform."

Uhura suspected that without the admirals' expectations, Kirk would have found some excuse to join the party.

"That sounds like him," she said, more to herself than Spock.

The lift slowed to a stop.

/-/-/

Deep in conversation, Kirk and Scott mirrored each other with their arms crossed and heads bowed close. McCoy was in surgery repairing Giotto's leg, but he wouldn't have stuck around for a conversation he would claim was above his pay grade.

"Did he know what he was saying?" Kirk asked, referring to Eldridge's sedated ramblings. The sound of his own voice enhanced the muted quality of his hearing and left him feeling unbalanced.

When Scott spoke, he tilted his head toward the captain's good ear. "The doctor reckons his wits were about him." He hesitated a moment before adding, "If ye dinnae mind me saying so, enough strange happenings confirm it."

"You're right, but I'll need to talk to him."

"The man's got no love for ye."

Disfavor among his peers and superiors had been a running theme Kirk's whole life. "I'll bet," he said, a wolfish smile expressing how little he valued Eldridge's opinion.

Scott leveled a sober look on the bright eyed lad. "He's fixing tae lay blame and it would'na surprise me one bit if he were tae say the entire rebellion were yer doing."

"Then my fate rests in the admirals ability to see reason."

Scott arched a dubious eyebrow. "We'll all stand by ye, no questioning that."

Even with Eldridge in safe custody, the situation remained precarious. In the grand scheme of things Kirk was a lowly pawn. He harbored no illusions that he could see the entire board and its various political players, but he trusted his instincts. The admirals weren't looking to screw him over, he was just a convenient scapegoat should the need for one arise.

Voicing his next thoughts aloud, Kirk said, "With the rebellion, the trade agreement is null and void. Either we pull back and pretend we were never here, or we investigate who's been in contact with the planet."

"Nosing around will draw every eye faster than an Orion striptease."

"The fact remains that someone other than the Federation made contact." Kirk tugged at his right earlobe, the crust of blood itching. He winced when a shock of pain radiated from his inner ear and along his jaw.

Dropping his hand, Kirk spoke again. "Whether we were the first or not, the Prime Directive is no longer a liability." The shining gem in all this was that Kirk was off the hook if word of his mission reached public channels.

Scott stared at the captain's ear, wondering if he should insist the man take a bed and have a nurse check him over. "More trouble than it's worth, I say."

Kirk nodded in agreement. He doubted Ritalin was in high enough demand for Starfleet to request the _Enterprise_ rekindle relations with the planet. The unknown agents who'd made contact with Thelos and supplied its people with weaponry were the real concern. The crucial question that Starfleet couldn't leave unanswered was whether the Brotherhood had targeted the Federation because of the convenient opportunity or because of intentional designs. One was an unfortunate case of bad timing, the other was cause for war.

"We'll debrief after I've spoken with the ambassador."

"Shall I round up the usual suspects?"

Kirk clapped Scotty's shoulder. "Keep this up and Mr. Spock may be out of a job."

Scott laughed. "I'm no first officer. O' course, it would mean I could approve my own inventory."

"God help us all," Kirk said.

The comm whistle cut off further discussion.

"Enter," Kirk said.

The door opened, revealing a relieved Uhura and her solemn companion.

Spock stepped into the office, eyes averted from the man he'd intended to see. He kept his hands clasped behind his back as if placed under restraint.

Kirk approached cautiously, uncertain of his reception.

A strange need crawled beneath Spock's skin. He fought to keep still. The phantom sensation of being pressed against Jim's backside, heat and strength focused on the sole task of protecting him. Jim stood before him and he couldn't bring himself to look up. He wanted to say something impressive, something that would remind Jim that despite being thirteen his intellect was beyond his years.

When Spock opened his mouth, he could only think to state the obvious. "You have returned," he said, a crease forming between his brows as he realized how utterly unimpressive he sounded.

"I have," Kirk said with a laugh. He sank to his knees and clasped Spock's shoulders. "I told you I'd be back."

"Your safe return does not negate the risk that was involved."

"I'm sorry for leaving."

Forcing himself to lift his eyes, alarm jolted through Spock's system. "You are injured," he said in a panicked tone. There were spots of dried blood along Jim's earlobe and jaw. Scratches marred the flesh of Jim's chin and the corner of his left eye and cheekbone appeared discolored and swollen.

"A few bumps and bruises."

"You must seek medical attention."

"Does this mean you forgive me?" Kirk asked. His roguish smile spoke of cunning, a man certain of his favor who knew forgiveness was inevitable.

Spock could not abide the continued misunderstanding between them. "In your absence, I concluded that your decision to return to Thelos was born of professional responsibility. Following the orders of your superiors was only logical. It was inappropriate that I asked you to remain."

Something in the kid's eyes told Kirk that despite any logical understanding of the situation, he still felt spurned. "I'm sorry."

"Continued expression of regret does not modify its meaning. Your apologies are unnecessary and ineffective."

"Your dad told me the same thing," Kirk said, his expression fond. "I'm still sorry."

Spock released a breath that could almost be taken for a sigh. His shoulders relaxed. "Your absence troubled me."

"Then I guess I'll have to stick around."

"I am amenable to such a solution."

McCoy appeared in the doorway and scanned his crowded office. Still in his surgical scrubs, he'd wasted no time in tracking Jim down.

Kirk rose to his feet and prepared a glib remark in the hope of defusing the doctor's wrath.

McCoy stalked closer and exclaimed, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Without preamble, he invaded Jim's personal space and cupped the man's jaw. He tilted Jim's head to the side, eyes intent on the injured ear. "Your security chief told me what happened, you damn fool."

Kirk's prepared response fell to pieces when he saw the depth of worry etched in Bones' grim features. "It's fine," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. He tried to turn his head away.

"Like hell." McCoy dug his fingers into Jim's cheek and kept him in place. "You say you can't hear out of it?"

"If this is going to take longer than ten minutes to fix, it can wait.

Fury sparked in McCoy's eyes and threatened medical override. "Don't make me pull rank. I will, but I don't wanna." He didn't have the energy to fight Jim every step of the way. The man needed to learn when to submit.

Kirk couldn't put off sending word to Command. Resigned to delegating the task, he motioned for Uhura to follow him and made a beeline for the nearest empty bed.

He apprised Uhura of the necessary points of the message: Ambassador Eldridge was alive and aboard the ship, Code 86 was believed to have occurred, and no casualties were sustained during the mission.

"No casualties, sir?" Uhura arched a sculpted eyebrow and cut a glance to the side of the captain's head.

"No fatalities," Kirk said, then added, "this time."

Uhura checked her notes, the message already composed in her head. "Consider it done."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Kirk fought the urge to swat the scanner away as Bones' checked him over.

Spock sidled up beside Dr. McCoy and stood on the balls of his feet, trying to glimpse the read out on the patient chart. "What are the extent of his injuries?" he asked.

Glad to have someone else taking the exam seriously, McCoy held the chart out for Spock to see. "Tympanic perforation, dehydration, low glucose and sodium levels, and a fractured skull from when his mama dropped him on his head."

Brow furrowed, Spock studied the chart. "Doctor-"

McCoy cut the kid off before he asked where the head injury was listed. "It's a joke." He pointed at Jim. "But there's no doubt someone dropped you on your head. Why else would you always get your priorities backwards?"

"Bones, just fix my ear. The lectures can wait."

It only took a few minutes for McCoy to clean Jim's ear, careful and thorough. When he finished, he stood back and crossed his arms. "Much as I hate to say this, you can go."

Suspicious, Kirk eyed Bones for a long moment. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," McCoy said. "Your ear's the worst of it. Even if I graft the perforation now, you won't hear much out of it for at least twenty-four hours."

"I see," Kirk said, still eyeing the doctor warily.

McCoy moved to the supply cart and produced a set of hypos. "Go do whatever it is that's put ants in your pants, then report back here." He loaded the first cartridge and set it against Jim's neck.

Kirk winced at the small prick.

"This is an antibiotic, to keep infection out." McCoy emptied the cartridge and loaded the second one. "This is a mild painkiller."

Kirk rubbed his neck, equal parts sullen and grateful. "That it?"

"Drink fluids, eat something, and don't agitate your ear. No rubbing or itching at it, and try not to overload anymore phasers."

Spock did not approve of Jim's early release. He debated whether to speak his mind on the issue.

"You should know," Kirk said, hopping down from the bed, "Hannity is running tests on the relic."

McCoy stopped scowling at Jim's chart and gave his full attention. "Does she have a time estimate?"

"No, but I wanted to give you the heads up. If and when we're ready to try something, it'll be done in sickbay."

"Since when does Jim Kirk take medical precautions?" The question was rhetorical. McCoy knew Jim well enough to know the double standards he held for everyone else's safety.

Kirk glanced at the Vulcan boy whose placid expression betrayed no reaction. "Since it involves Spock."

Sliding the chart back into the biobed, McCoy said, "I'll be ready when you need me." He strode off before he changed his mind and forced Jim to undergo the graft right then.

Attention still on Spock, Kirk asked, "Are you okay with this?"

Because Jim asked for his opinion directly, Spock decided he didn't need to hold back. "While I am confident Doctor McCoy is a competent physician, I have doubts pertaining to his objectivity in your diagnosis. I believe you should remain in sickbay and seek immediate treatment for your tympanic injury."

Laughing, Kirk felt the day's tension bleed away. "I meant are you okay with having the relic used on you again?"

The dilation of capillaries in Spock's cheeks was immediate and involuntary. Evidence of his embarrassment compelled him to bow his head, unsuccessfully attempting to hide his reaction. He startled when Jim touched his shoulder.

Kirk dropped his hand when Spock tensed. Not knowing how to interpret the kid's response, he knelt down and angled his head until Spock couldn't refuse to meet his gaze. "This isn't something I'm going to force you to do."

Unable to recover his calm when the blue depths of Jim's eyes were so close, Spock took a step back. "As evidenced by my current responses, I continue to struggle with emotional control. It is only natural that I attempt to rectify such flaws as soon as possible."

"You're not flawed," Kirk said, echoing Spock's concerns from a week ago. "There's nothing wrong with the way you are now, but changing you back is only natural."

Spock had anticipated this moment for the past week, knowing there was no real choice. "Would you allow me to refuse?" he asked, voicing his reservations for the first time.

Kirk studied Spock for a long moment. The boy stared intently at the ground, unwilling or perhaps too ashamed to meet his eyes. "Of course."

Spock's eyes snapped up. "Why?"

"Because there's no guarantee how it'll turn out. There are risks involved that I won't force you to take."

There were too many unknown variables to determine every possible outcome. Apart from death or disfigurement, the most prominent risks Spock could identify involved irreparable memory loss. "I might lose my memory of these past nine days and eighteen hours."

"You might lose your entire memory," Kirk said, searching for signs of fear in the boy. "It might make you even younger, or age you a hundred years."

"Yet you still approve of subjecting me to the device."

"Right now all we have are speculations. When Hannity knows more, we'll have a better idea of the risks involved."

"Lieutenant Hannity is not a qualified expert in this field. Knowledge of the Thelosian culture is necessary to understanding the workings of their technology."

"She'll consult whoever she needs to if she can't figure it out herself."

"Is your faith in her so absolute?"

"I trust her based on your own recommendation. You chose her personally for your department. That's all I need to know."

A dark tendril of envy unfurled inside Spock. The trust Jim spoke of wasn't for him, but his older self. "Very well," he said, unwilling to drag the conversation out any longer when he desired the isolation of his quarters. "I will make preparations and await your call."

Kirk watched Spock's retreating form, confused by the boy's abrupt agreement and departure. He knew something was wrong, but he didn't have time to chase after him.

TBC…

-Author's note-

Slow update is slow. I'm sorry. Fan-fiction has taken a backseat now that I'm trying to publish original work and have to survive grad school. I promise never to abandon this fic, no bullshit hiatuses or anything like that. I will always have the next chapter in the works. It'll just take me months at a time before it's ready to post. I know how much works-in-progress suck, so I really wish I could write faster for everyone. You've all been so amazing with reviews. I really appreciate the support.

To my non-LJ readers, if you're curious about when the next update to any of my WIPs will be, then check out my LJ site. You don't need to friend me or have an LJ account to browse. I don't mind being asked when my next update will be, but odds are I won't answer since it's easier if you just check my LJ site periodically. The link is on my profile page, listed as my homepage. You can't miss it.


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